


Fading Scars

by HollyBrianne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Hogwarts, Slow Burn, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-04-19 17:42:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 51,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19137547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyBrianne/pseuds/HollyBrianne
Summary: Draco feels like an outcast. In order to leave his house, he takes on a magical disguise so he is unrecognizable. He runs into Hermione, who had an awkward falling out with Ron, and they become friends. Does he dare to hope for something more? And how long can he pretend to be someone else while they embark to restore Hermione's parents' memories?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or the world in which I'm writing them.
> 
> Aesthetic credit: PotionChemist

 

"Quitting time!" The punch clock announced in its usual surly tone. It let out a throat-clearing noise, despite having no discernable throat, and then whistled grudgingly.

A head of bushy brown hair appeared from behind a sea of floating parchment. With a flick of her wand, Hermione Granger sent the parchment whizzing into a filing cabinet to her left, then flopped backwards into her chair with a sigh.

It was the end of another long day at the end of another tiresome week. Hermione had only been at her post in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures for about two months, but she was already resenting her decision. She had accepted the position thinking that she'd be fighting for House Elf rights or perhaps conducting exciting research on a thirteenth, previously undiscovered use for dragon blood. She had imagined herself giving speeches to dewy-eyed fifth years at her alma matter, inspiring them for a life of learning and public service.

That was not the case. Instead, her days varied between two extremes: reenactments of Hagrid's disastrous Care of Magical Creatures lessons or hours of monotonous parchment filing. Twice she had been scooped up by some Ministry bigwigs and paraded out for public morale. She would stand in front of a crowd next to Harry, who had of course started in the Auror Office as soon as he could, and they would smile, pose, and shake some hands, but as of yet they hadn't been able to speak.

_That's why they hired me,_ Hermione thought sullenly, to be one of their good faces. _That will change soon enough,_ she promised.

"Didn't you hear me?" The punch clock chimed, interrupting Hermione's thoughts.

"Oh!" she huffed, "Yes, thank you." She exited the office hurriedly, in no mood to quarrel with the clock again. Last week they had gotten into it and the clock refused to alert her for her lunch break for three straight, ravenous days.

The hall and the lift were empty, the other ministry workers probably cut out early on Friday afternoon. Hermione didn't mind the quiet now, allowing her eyes to close as she was carried toward the lobby. Suddenly, the lift lurched her forward, coming to an unexpected early stop. A female voice announced, "Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement." A sigh of relief escaped Hermione's lips when she saw it was none other than Harry Potter, also alone, who joined her.

"Hi, Hermione!" He exclaimed, louder than necessary in such close quarters. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were sparkling with excitement.

"Hiya, Harry," she responded, finding the will to smile back sincerely. "Looks like you've had a grand day."

"I have! I put on a lesson for some of the more… er… senior Aurors. Y'know, new techniques and the like. It was brilliant." He beamed.

Hermione chuckled and her earlier tension started to melt away. Harry's good moods were always so infectious to her.

"I told you that you should become a professor, after all that work you put into the D.A." She thought back on their hours spent mastering defensive spells in the Room of Requirement. Harry truly was a gifted teacher. "Hogwarts must be at a loss without the great Harry Potter," she teased.

"Come off it," he nudged her arm and shot her a good-natured wink.

The lift stopped again, this time announcing, "Lobby" and the gate opened onto the wide rotunda. Golden early evening light shown down onto the monument that now stood in the center of the towering room.  
No matter what she thought of the Ministry, Hermione was thankful that they wasted no time in removing the grotesque 'Magic is Might' statue. In its place was a serene tribute to the lives lost in the wizarding wars. Several tall white stone tablets stood in a circle, each carved with a list of names of the known fallen. A small stream of clear water fell from somewhere above, landed in the center of the circle, then radiated out into a moat just outside the circle. Three thick benches in matching white stone surrounded it all for seated viewing.

Harry and Hermione had made it a habit most days to stop at the monument and pay respect to the next name on the list. They would share a silent moment - Hermione would wordlessly thank the name for its great sacrifice; Harry would apologize for not being able to end the war sooner.

After a somber beat, they continued toward the line of fireplaces to exit. Harry broke the silence.

"Are you coming to the Burrow tonight?" His tone was cautious.

"I… I don't think I should," was all she could muster. Her heart pumped a little faster but she tried to keep her face blank. Harry held her gaze, not bothering to mask his sadness.

"Do you… want to tell me what happened?"

As close as the two were, they rarely had any heart-to-heart talks. Alike in so many ways, their relationship was one of simple understanding. They both grew up in the muggle world as only children and were true Gryffindors. They could read each other by expression or body language, so there was never much need for too many words. Hermione had never been overly-emotional, but Harry was still unsure how she'd respond.

"Nothing."

He eyed her carefully, thankful she didn't lay into his other best friend. Still, he didn't make another move for the fireplace yet.

"Honestly, nothing," Hermione repeated with a noncommittal shrug. Harry nodded but she could tell he didn't believe her.

"Alright then, I'll see you Monday morning for tea before shift?" He grinned again, knowing what her answer would be.

Hermione returned the smile with forced warmth, "Of course," and with that, Harry stepped into the green flames and disappeared.

Alone again, Hermione sighed and let her shoulders droop. She stepped into the fireplace and when she stepped out, she was no longer at the Ministry of Magic, but in her parents' living room. Only, it wasn't her parents' anymore, it was just hers. Mr. And Mrs. Granger were still halfway across the world, believing they were Wendell and Monica Wilkins, and utterly childless. She had every intention of running to them as soon as the battle was won, but something was stopping her. If anyone asked, it was because she had made her charm too powerful and couldn't track them just yet. The truth had more to do with the fact that she still kept her rucksack packed to flee, or that her hand always found her wand the instant a stranger entered a room.

The witch plodded into her muggle kitchen and peered into the refrigerator. In a moment she was standing against the counter digging in at a container of leftover takeaway, imagining the bustle that must be going on at the Burrow. The thought caused her to reach into the cabinet for a bottle and a glass. With a heavy hand, she poured herself some firewhiskey and downed it in two gulps.

She hadn't _technically_ lied to Harry. Nothing had happened with Ron. Well, okay, she cringed as she allowed herself to remember, nothing happened after a big _something_ did happen.

Smoke still billowed from the castle rubble. The air seemed electric. Ron had finally, _finally_ , showed her how he felt towards her. Death and love was at every turn. The two left the school grounds broken but together. Stay with me, she whispered into the curve of his neck, and he obliged because he needed her, too. It was comfort that pushed them into bed together; comfort, not passion. Afterward, Hermione cried. Her tears were hot and fat, too big to hide even if she had had the energy to try. They spent the rest of the night unable to sleep, lying next to each other without touching, and Ron was gone with the rising sun. In the weeks following, neither could find the right words, or any words really. Avoiding each other was just easier. Hermione's heart ached, but perhaps the worst part was that she couldn't convince herself that the ache was for Ron.

Her glass clinked on the counter, harder than she meant to, and the noise jarred her alert once again. She set her jaw.

"I'm not going to jail myself up in this house," she announced to no one and strode over to the hallway mirror. Her Ministry robes fell in a lump at her feet and she smoothed her blouse and slacks with her palms. Hermione crinkled her nose at the sight of her uncontrolled mane and did her best to tame it into a bun. She glanced at her reflection once more before she decided that she didn't have anyone to impress and gave up. With a shrug, she turned on the spot and disapparated.


	2. Chapter 2

The world outside his window was bathed in summer sunshine, but inside, the Manor was in shadow. Draco Malfoy closed his eyes and inhaled the warm breeze that reached his bedroom window. The aroma of freshly trimmed hedge tickled his nose and he deduced that the house elves had been working in the garden.

He hadn't left the house in weeks. Even though there was no one around, he didn't let his face betray his yearning. A soft flapping noise startled him and he snapped his eyes back open. A large bird was riding the breeze in lazy circles. Slowly, Draco's right fist clenched. How he missed the freedom of flying!

_This is ridiculous_ , he scoffed inwardly, _I could fly in my own garden if I wanted_. He stood and turned toward the armoire where his broom was stored but his eyes caught his antique time piece on the opposite wall. The enchanted chronometer was ornately decorated with silver filigree and emeralds. Among its other uses, it told time and date, the sight of which caused Draco to stop mid-stride.

"It's August?" he said aloud, breath catching in his throat.

So it hadn't been weeks since he'd gone out, it had been _months_. Without Hogwarts to look forward to, most of the summer had passed him by unnoticed. Looking down at himself, he noticed the skin on his arms- white as chalk and dull. Yes, the missed summer had taken its toll on him, after he was finally getting back his normal eating and sleeping habits, something which had eluded him for near two years.

Draco's mind clamored to think of anything other than his failed assassination mission, but the only thing that came in its place was another painful memory- his last outing from Malfoy Manor.

It was his birthday, roughly two months ago now, and just over one month following the Dark Lord's defeat. Draco had gone to wizarding London to escape his mother's watch and browse the shops to buy himself a suitable birthday present. He had never been naïve; he knew people had always felt threatened by the power that the Malfoy name afforded him. For some people it manifested as respect, in others it was distain, but regardless, Draco knew he had the upper hand.

That day, however, the mood had shifted. " _Death Eater money is no good here!_ " a shopkeeper had shouted with a burning hostility. Instead of looking down in fear, his fellow patrons turned glaring eyes to him and Draco didn't have to use legilimency to know that they had all thought the same thing. Self-loathing gnawed at his gut. Usually he would have gone on the offensive, but he could find no words. Draco fumed and returned home empty-handed.

"Draco, dear," his mother had greeted as he entered their grand foyer, "such a quick trip, nothing to your liking today?"

"No," he remembered keeping his glance casual, not wishing to invite further conversation, "nothing noteworthy."

She had followed him toward the staircase. "Well, I've ordered a special meal be prepared for tonight, six o'clock." He nodded and continued up the stairs solo. He had spent the afternoon in the dark of his room until the chronometer announced by one long chime that it was time for him to make an appearance. At five past six, he had entered the dining room to an opulent display of fine food on their best china.  
"To Draco," his mother had announced, lifting her glass. Before Draco and his father could follow suit, a chorus of screeching owls hurtled into the dining room. Their cargo dropped with angry splashes onto the feast and several dishes erupted in black smoke.

" _BLOOD TRAITOR!_ " a familiar voice wailed out from the smoke clear over the cacophony of the other explosions. The family recoiled and silence had fallen on the room again. It was quiet for only a moment before Lucius barked to the cowering servants.

"Clean this up! Immediately!"

_My bloody birthday_ , Draco thought after the memory finally released its hold. He retrieved his broom, mounted it, and flew out his open window in one fluid motion. Once he passed out of the shadow of the Manor, he blinked uncontrollably, blinded by sun's intensity. Slowly he regained his sight, and shot up and up as fast as he could. The air became biting cold against his skin. He could feel that the atmosphere was thinner and for a moment he just sat, allowing the reduced oxygen to hinder his thoughts. Abruptly, he turned into a steep dive. The wind rushed at him so fast that it stung his eyes and elicited a single tear. His heart pumped loudly in his ears as the ground was coming at him faster and faster.

_Do it_ , his mind growled. Terra firma was mere metres away. Suddenly his muscles tensed. He rolled to the side and tumbled off his broom into the brush.

_Coward._

Draco placed his hand at the base of his neck and squeezed his shoulder gingerly. Months ago, he had been able to tell himself that he didn't care that all the Potter-sympathizers hated him, nor that most fellow Death Eaters hated his family, ever since Lucius had secured a deal to testify against them in order to earn his own pardon from Azkaban. The Malfoys were above the need for things like human companionship, he had told himself. But two dismal months later, an uncomfortable feeling had rooted itself in the center of his chest. Loneliness.

"No," he shook his head, ashamed at the very notion. It wasn't a companion that he missed specifically, he thought, but he was unable to come up with another explanation. He buried the thought.

Gracefully, he stood, brushed himself off, and headed up the lane towards the Manor. Today, he decided, was the day he would go out and command respect again. But, as he passed the garden fountain, his reflection gave him pause. The world hated Draco Malfoy? _Fine. Today I won't be Draco Malfoy._ His long legs carried him swiftly inside and into the family's impressive library.

"Polyjuice?" he wondered as his hand hovered next to a dog-eared potion book. He quickly discounted the notion; the brew would take far too long. Besides, who would he look like? He couldn't impersonate another wizard without unnecessary complication, and he definitely wasn't going to parade around as some muggle, he still had some dignity after all. No, he needed to be a completely new person, but how?

His first lap around the library resulted in nothing of interest. He sighed and started his second approach more slowly. He was about to give up when a text on animagi piqued his curiosity. He didn't want to become an animal, but he was getting warmer. He scanned the surrounding books and landed on one on the shelf below. The book was leather bound, but based on the colouration, Draco had an uneasy suspicion that it was not from a beast. On the center of the cover, the was an illustration that seemed to be burned like a brand- a man's face, his mouth was wide in a silent scream and his skin was melting away. Above the illustration, the title read _Human Transfiguration: The Deceptive Art of Masquerade_. The book was heavy and cold. Draco shivered involuntarily as he removed it from the book case.

Once in his private chambers, he opened the book hungrily and examined the pages. Intricate diagrams were interspersed with long entries of texts. He stopped when he found a complicated-looking equation.  
"Right," he muttered. His brow furrowed. Transfiguration was not his worst subject, but it was hardly his best. The book warned of danger if the spell was not enacted properly, _But what have I got to lose?_ he dared.

_I will change only enough to get by_ , he thought and stalked over to his full length looking glass. His hair would surely give him away. True, it was longer than he usually kept it, due to his neglect the past few months, but the white blond was somewhat of a signature. This would have to go. Next, he fixed his gaze on his pointed features- his sharp and slim nose, then his triangular chin, and finally up to his prominent cheek bones. Those would need changing as well. Lastly, he blinked into his own eyes. His gray irises shone with the thrill of his risk, but the sagging skin hinted at the sorrow that still plagued him. It felt wrong to change his eyes, and he resolved that he wouldn't allow anyone close enough to see them anyway, so they could stay.

With his mind made up, he returned his attention to the text. Over the next hour, he busied himself with the required measurements and plugged each into his equation. He checked and rechecked, finally coming to his last calculation: wand strength.

His wand lay untouched on his work desk, just above the book. It was made of hawthorn wood, ten inches long and reasonably pliant with a unicorn core. The only time it had left his side since it chose him at Ollivander's was when Harry Potter had stolen it in his escape from the Manor earlier this year. The wand had been returned (or, more accurately, retrieved) but Draco regarded it hesitantly. What if the wand had changed allegiance? The strength of his spell would certainly be diminished if the wand now answered to Potter, and that could throw off his calculations.

No, the wand had shown no ill will over the summer so far, he reasoned, and unicorn hair was known to create especially loyal wands. He convinced himself it would be fine and scribbled his last note on his parchment. With his equation complete, he moved quickly back to his mirror, before he could lose his resolve.

_Be resolute and forceful in your wand movements. A weak wrist or soft motion will surely have fearsome consequences._ The book's last warning seemed to reverberate through his mind. Draco held his arm rigid and aimed his wand.

" _Eraldatu!_ "

A moment passed; Draco remained completely still. Slowly, a fierce heat began to grow inside of him. It started in his nasal cavity, then spread outward until it encompassed his whole head. He dropped to his knees in panic as his vision blurred. He felt blinded for the second time that day. One excruciating minute later and his vision returned. He watched a deep brown blossom at his scalp and drip until it reached the tips of his hair. Then, his nose ballooned with a hissing sound. His chin cracked and started to recede which squished his jaw was more square and his cheeks aligned with it.

When his transformation was complete, he familiarized himself with his new visage. He certainly wasn't as handsome anymore, he smirked, but he admired his work in profile. The spell had gone perfectly. After one last look in the mirror, Draco pictured his destination, and with a pop he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**H**

Hermione felt her feet hit the ground and she took in the familiar surroundings. Diagon Alley was starting to swell with the late summer influx of before school shoppers. A wizard rushed past her with two teenagers in tow, each consulting separate supply lists and pointing wildly in opposite directions. Hermione watched as the wizard huffed, took each of his children by the hands, and chose a direction where they all carried on.  
A pang of sadness hit Hermione in the gut. She had missed out on the excitement of preparing for her seventh year at Hogwarts. True, she had been offered the opportunity to return this year, and now she was feeling the sting of regret. She bit her lip and tried to recount her reasoning.

Of course, her decision hadn't come from the loss of her friends. Hermione was perfectly fine being independent, and her final year would likely have been so full of studying that any social obligations would have held little consequence to her anyway. Besides, Ginny and Luna would still have been in attendance, among other friendly acquaintances, so she wouldn't have been entirely alone.

With a sigh, the realization came back to her. How could she go back to being just a student after all she had gone through in the past year? She had seen the practical application of countless charms, relied on her knowledge of potions and plants to keep herself and friends alive, defended herself against the darkest of arts, and quite literally played a leading role in the next chapter of magical history. Somehow after all of that, studying for marks seemed a bit irrelevant. Since there had been more pressing needs at hand it hadn't truly hit her last year, but now she was feeling empty.

_Too late_ , she bemoaned inwardly, thinking of her responsibilities at the Ministry. Shaking her head, she tried to stamp out the jealous flush on her cheeks and decided instead to let the children's excitement lift her spirits.

The alley did seem to be doing well after the war, as long as you overlook the quiet area where Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour used to draw an exuberant crowd. People milled around it, popping into shops and stopping at the outdoor stalls along the way. Hermione started down the narrow path. She didn't have any particular need so she occupied herself with window shopping and people watching. The quidditch supply store didn't capture her attention for long and she moved on to Madam Malkin's where several beautiful dress robes were displayed alongside the standard Hogwarts school robes. A promotion of self-sharpening quills pulled her into the stationery shop and she emerged a short while later with a handful of quills and some ink refill pots.

Uncomfortably she passed Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. There was only a small chance that a Weasley would actually be at the shop, seeing as how they were all intended to be at the Burrow, but she didn't fancy a run in right now. George had the unnerving ability to ask about the exact thing you didn't want to talk about without shying away from awkwardness.

She slowed unconsciously in front of Madame Primpernelle's Beautifying Potions. A flyer advertised _Undeniably desirable!_ The model on the flyer appeared to be glowing and blew kisses and winked to a mob of figures in the background. A shelf behind the glass carried row upon row of heart-shaped crystal pots of glittery pink liquid.

Hermione blushed and turned away. _What do I care about that?_ she thought crossly. She moved to continue on her path but a stack of plain white jars in the corner kept her back. The labels read _Primpernelle's Own Scar Repair: Healing all marks and discolouration since 1937. Guaranteed to fade your flaws upon first application._

Hermione looked down at her left forearm. It was covered by her blouse, but she knew what she would find underneath if she pulled back the sleeve.

_Mudblood_.

The slur had not been the only scar she got from the war, but it was the only one that could be seen physically. Hermione knew she shouldn't feel shame from it, but just because she knew it didn't make it so. Even though the summer heat was ever-present this year, she had worn long sleeves at all times. The sad stares were too much for her if she didn't. She clicked her tongue and ducked into the shop. She purchased one jar of the scar repair potion and left in a hurry.

Finally she reached Flourish and Blot's. She often came to browse and usually left with an armful of books and a promise to return for the rest of her haul. The comforting smell of old and new books hung in the air and she smiled widely. She greeted the shopkeeper and quickly got absorbed in a section of wandless magic, eventually emerging with a single book.

With parcels in hand, Hermione exited into the alley with plans to sit and read under the late sun. But her hopes were dashed- it was much later than thought it was. The sun was starting to dip below the shops which threw long shadows along the lane.

_Too hard to read by_ , she concluded. How long had she been in the book store? A rumble in her stomach told her it had been much longer than she realized. She headed to the Leaky Cauldron in search of food.

The pub was sparsely filled. Hermione passed several empty tables and went straight to the bar, ready to order a plate and a drink.

"Hermione!" came a cheerful manly voice. Hermione turned to face the voice and the corners of her lips turned upward instantly.

"Neville?"

The lanky boy got up from his seat at the other end of the bar and joined her a few stools down. They shared a brief hug.

"Are you alone?" she asked, looking around. Neville's cheeks coloured, but it was gone so quickly Hermione decided that she must have imagined it.

"Yes. I come here by myself every once in a while… just enjoying some time away from my Gran," he mumbled. "You?"

Hermione just shrugged in response. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment while Hermione waited for the bartender to come over for her order.

"How's the Ministry treating you?" she asked when it was clear the bartender was busy elsewhere.

"S'alright so far," he answered and sipped from his glass. Neville squinted as if he was considering whether or not to say more. "My Gran is ecstatic that I'm in Auror training, of course," he said hesitantly, "but I don't seem to fit, I guess. Maybe not yet, anyway."

Neville had accepted a position to train as an Auror along with Harry and Ron after the war. Hermione hadn't been able to catch up with Neville since he started because their training schedules kept the boys busy and generally far from Hermione's department, a fact that (due to her situation with Ron), she was quietly grateful for.

"I dunno," Neville continued after Hermione arched her eyebrow questioningly. "The Ministry thinks I'm cut out for this kind of thing, because of the D.A. and being there for the last battle and all." He trailed off.

"And what, you don't agree?" Hermione asked pointedly. It was Neville's turn to shrug. "Neville, you weren't just in the D.A. From what I hear, you practically ran it after we left. And I would hardly say you were just there for the battle. We all saw what you did and heard what you said. If it weren't for you…" she didn't know how to finish. I might not be alive felt melodramatic but accurate, but she couldn't bring herself to say it. "You're braver than you even know, Neville Longbottom. Braver than we probably ever gave you credit for."

The blush returned to Neville's face. "Thanks, Hermione. I suppose being hero doesn't feel like you'd think it would… I was just doing what was right, what I had to do."

"We all were," she nodded.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione became aware of a figure with long blonde hair standing on the other side of the bar. The bartender had appeared, breaking the silence that came over them again.

"Could I have a butterbeer and a plate of pasta please?" Hermione asked while she turned. Here eyes fell on a familiar pink face. "Hannah?"

Hannah Abbott nodded and busied herself with a glass. "Hi, Hermione," she said, a little stiffly, Hermione thought.

"How are you?" Hermione asked. She had seen the girl at Hogwarts during the battle, but the last time they had spoken was early in their sixth year, before Hannah had been called out of class for a family emergency and never returned to school.

"Well enough."

Hermione remembered the anxious young Hufflepuff she knew from school and acknowledged that Hannah had done a lot of growing up since then. She seemed less anxious and more restrained. Hannah produced a glass of butterbeer and looked uneasily between Hermione and Neville.

"Uh, Neville and I were just talking about his new career with the Ministry," Hermione forced extra cheer into her voice in an effort to cut the sudden tension. She leaned slightly away to create some distance between herself and the boy. This seemed to pacify Hannah.

"Oh that. I keep telling him that he needs to apprentice as the Herbology professor at Hogwarts. I'm going back this year to finish my studies and it would be nice to have him there to help me through my N.E.W.T.S. Hermione, tell him he doesn't need that danger and excitement anymore!" Hannah whined playfully.

"Hey! Herbology can be plenty dangerous and exciting!" Neville laughed.

"Yes, I know," Hannah giggled, looking at him through her eyelashes.

Their eye contact lingered and Hermione suddenly felt like she was intruding on a private moment. It struck her in that moment why Neville must come here by himself. She turned away, drink in hand, and tried to slink away discreetly. Unfortunately, she turned too fast to see the tall figure that was passing behind her. Her hand crashed against his abdomen and butterbeer splashed out of her glass. Hermione's sleeve was soaked up to the elbow, as was the entire front of the black button-up shirt in front of her.

"Merlin! I am so sorry!" She exclaimed, so flustered at her own clumsiness that she momentarily forgot her wand and reached for a napkin. She dabbed at the shirt in a rush without bothering to glance up at the man wearing it. "Oh, it looks like such fine fabric, too," _dab_ "It's all my fault, of course," _dab_ "Maybe if Hannah has some tonic water behind the counter we can make sure it doesn't stain," _dab_ "No, I've soiled your book as well! Let me try to… Oh Dymphna Laceroot's book? Well I suppose a book's still a book…" _dab_. Then, as if a lightbulb had just snapped on, Hermione stopped her work with the napkin.

"For goodness sake, what am I even doing?" She whipped her wand out of her pocket and aimed for the shirt and book. " _Tergio!_ " She dabbed the fabric one last time. When she was satisfied that the shirt and book were clean and dry, she finally elevated her eyes to meet the wearer of the shirt.

He was a decent looking young man. He had dark hair and contrasting stark pale skin. Hermione was fairly certain she had never met this man before, but something seemed vaguely familiar and she couldn't place exactly what. She realized that she had been staring and scowled with embarrassment.

"Sorry again. By the way, I'm Hermione-"

"Granger," the shirt-wearer said in a gruff voice. Hermione stepped back and furrowed her brow further.

"Have… have me met?"

…

**D**

The witch's eyes squinted at him and Draco flinched at his mistake. He coughed, just now realizing that he had forgotten to camouflage his voice.

"I don't believe so." He tried to keep is voice gravelly. She looked at him dubiously but didn't speak. "You're somewhat of a celebrity these days," he offered as explanation. Granger's head dipped downward and he took that as acceptance of his excuse. Inwardly, he sneered. The words felt wrong to say, almost like he was complimenting her. It did make him feel better that she didn't seem to take it as such. Actually, it seemed that she agreed and really wished it wasn't so.

"And your name is?" She questioned.

_Bollocks_. He hadn't thought of a cover name either. Honestly, he hadn't expected to get into a real conversation for it to be necessary. Granger blinked slowly in front of him and he noticed that he had let the silence go on too long. He shouted the first thing that came to his mind.

"Duke!"

Granger's eyes widened in surprise at his volume. "Okay, Duke. It's nice to meet you. I'm going to get myself another drink since I seem to have lost mine," she cracked dryly. "Would you like anything? My treat since I ran into you. As apologies for the shirt and the… book," she finished and rolled her eyes.

Draco didn't answer. He had wanted to get out of the Manor and interact with some people, yes, but he couldn't believe his bad luck that he would run right into Granger. And, Merlin, is that Longbottom flirting with Hannah Abbott at the bar? His adventure had gone so well until now. He had gotten fresh air. He had watched families roam in and out of stores along Diagon Alley and no one looked at him angrily. Another bloke had nodded him a greeting in passing. He purchased this book (that he sensed Granger had some kind of grudge against) and spent an hour in the dwindling sun devouring its pages.

He must have taken too long to respond because Granger called over her shoulder to the bar. "Hannah, can we get two butterbeers here, please?"

Draco cringed. Granger sat at the table just next to them. Draco did the same, but even as he did, he wasn't sure why. He could just leave, there was nothing but the promise of a drink keeping him. And he could do that on his own if he so chose. So why hadn't he left yet? The drinks came and Draco resolved to stay just long enough to discover what her stupid grudge with Dymphna Laceroot was all about.

She was staring again. "I'm sorry, I could swear we've met before. Do you work for the Ministry?" she guessed. He shook his head. "Did you go to Hogwarts?"

"No… I attended Durmstrang. My father preferred it." The lie came easy because part of it was true. If his mother hadn't insisted he stay closer to home, he would have been a Durmstrang student. He brooded with this thought for a moment. How different his life could have been.

"The Triwizard Tournament, then? Did you visit Hogwarts for that?"

It dawned on him that she wasn't going to give this up. How very aggravating.

"Er, yes, sorry. Yes, that must be it."

Finally she looked satisfied. Granger was gloating like she had just deciphered a string of rare runes. Yes, he had seen her do that before, and this was the same face.

"And what's your problem with Dymphna Laceroot's book?" he drawled.

Granger snorted. "Nothing, if you're looking for fiction."

"Fiction? That's rich! This book is about magical relics and her research is based in historic facts." He snapped.

"Rubbish!" Her glass hit the table hard.

"You know better, then?" His eyes were flashing. He wasn't sure why he was defending the book so hotly, but for whatever reason he couldn't back down.

"Perhaps I do."

"I'd like to see that."

Her grin turned devilish. "A challenge? Well then, you shall have it! What does Ms. Laceroot say about the Sylbering Gloves?"

"The gloves? Yes, she mentioned them during the chapter on her travels through Ireland. She uncovered them at the cliffs. They allow the wearer to carry weight ten times what he normally could. She donated them to the London Magical Artefact Vault."

"Ha! For a finder's fee!" Granger retorted. "Did you see the picture that was included? The gloves have an inscription sewn along the hem, just here," she traced her own thumb. "And the very first symbol wasn't in use until roughly two hundred years after the gloves were supposedly created."

Draco pulled open the book and flipped to the page that bore the photo. He peered closer.

"Mhm. I say she's no better than Gilderoy Lockhart. I'm sure news reached Durmstrang about who he really was?" Her eyes glinted. Granger was getting cocky with him.

His shoulders slumped. "Fine. Then a great bit of fiction it is."

"Duke," Granger's lips softened, "If you're really into magical relics, I suggest you find one of Neridiam Bram's books. Some of his work is just theories, but at least he has a taste for the truth."

"Bram, alright." Draco finished the last swing of his drink. Then, as he could find no other reason to convince himself to stay, he stood to leave.

"And maybe, I don't know, if I see you around or something, I could lend you a copy that I have." She said to his back.

Draco stopped and faced her again. The way she was looking at him, what would he call it? Hopeful, almost. He couldn't remember anyone looking at him that way before. It made his stomach turn, but he couldn't deny the gratifying fire in his chest. No one had opposed him like that in a long time, and he imagined how good it would feel if he could best her the next time they met.

"Sure. And maybe I'll school you on that wandless magic book you've chosen. Rubbish indeed!"

He meant his words to cause a rise, but she smiled at him brightly and nodded. Despite himself, he smiled back then left the pub.


	4. Chapter 4

**H**

"Right, Hermione?"

Hermione's head snapped to attention and Harry's amused face came into view.

"Erm, sorry- what?" It was Monday morning and they were sharing a pre-shift tea in the Ministry cafeteria, but she had been lost in thought and drifted away from the conversation. Hearing her name drew her back.

"I asked if you thought I was right. The disagreement I had with Ginny over the weekend?" When Hermione scrunched her face uncomfortably, Harry chuckled. "Joking, I could tell you were somewhere else. What's got you in such a good mood anyway?"

Hermione blinked back a flush. "Oh, nothing really." She sipped her tea to have a reason not to speak.

"Whatever it is, I'm glad you seem to have had a good weekend. Ginny thought you'd be moping alone again." He eyed her as if he was still trying to confirm this wasn't true.

"Is that what you two argued about? My socialization?" Hermione felt simultaneously touched and hurt that this would be something her friends would discuss without her. She tried to put on a mocking smile. "I'll have you know, I spent some time with Neville this weekend. And I made a new friend, sort of, without the trouble of having a near-death troll encounter."

Harry's shoulders shook as he laughed again. "Good!"

"So what does your day look like today?" She reached over for his agenda eager to change the subject. This was a habit she hadn't broken from their school days when she would start each semester comparing class schedules and study times. "A hearing? Was there another Death Eater arrest?" she asked after reading the first notation on his itinerary.

Harry ignored her question and pointed her lower on the page. "I'll be attending an unofficial meeting with some junior representatives in the International Confederation of Wizards. Just before lunchtime. You could probably sit in, if you like, seeing as how it's not a formal thing. We have visiting wizards from around the world. One's from Australia, you know."

"Oh, that would be fascinating," Hermione answered. "I wish you had mentioned last week, of course, but I'm sure I can get away from my paperwork for a bit."

"Maybe you could ask her about the area."

"Her who?"

"The witch from Australia, I didn't catch her name. Maybe more knowledge of the area could help you find your parents." Harry said plainly.

Hermione tilted her head in thought. She understood why Harry had been pushing her more than most to find her parents. She was lucky enough to still have them, even if they weren't really hers at the moment, and Harry's had been killed when he was so young he could barely remember them. She had rejected most of his hints over the summer, but he was stubborn and hadn't accepted her excuses like others had. Today felt different somehow. Maybe it was guilt from running into Neville, whose parents were also lost to him, or Hannah, who's mother's death was the reason she missed almost a whole year at Hogwarts. Any of them would give anything to have a chance to get their parents back, she knew, yet here she was, squandering her chance.

"You're right," she said finally.

"Hermione," he started ready to argue back. When he realized what she said he stopped. "I'm what? Oh yeah, I'm right." Harry nodded.

"I shouldn't waste any more time, should I? I think I'll talk to my department head today about a leave of absence. I wouldn't want to rush the trip if it does turn out to take a while to track them. I'll have to get my   
work in order and make travel arrangements. I've already done research for some charms I could use… I should pack some books I suppose." The excitement of adventure enveloped her.

Harry wore a wide grin. He checked his wristwatch and stood up. "Gotta get going," he said.

"Yes, mustn't miss your top secret hearing," Hermione said with a smirk and stood up to leave as well. Together they left the cafeteria. Hermione started to round the corner when she ran straight into a person coming the other direction.

"Not again," the man's voice snarled.

Hermione looked up. "Malfoy!" she gasped. "Again, what is that supposed to mean? Do you spend your time now attempting to flatten witches by running them over?" Her cheeks turned pink though as she remembered that this wasn't her first run in during the past few days either.

"Never mind, Granger," Draco Malfoy sniffed in response. "It's none of your business what I do, is it?"

Harry stepped in from behind Hermione and she jumped having forgotten he was there. "Actually, I think it is Malfoy. Your hearing is in a few minutes and I think the wizard court will take great interest in how you are treating people these days." Harry's eyes were stern and the way he was standing looked powerful against the blond.

Hermione looked back and forth between the young men in front of her. Malfoy's face was set in anger, but after a tense moment, the fire behind his eyes subdued. Hermione judged his expression. It wasn't quite defeat, but more like acceptance, she thought. Either way, he didn't push further and muttered a cold, "Excuse me," as he continued past them with his robes billowing in his wake.

Hermione rounded on Harry. "Is he facing an inquisition on his part in the war? Is that what you're doing this morning?" she exclaimed.

Harry gave a short nod. "Yes. And I'm not just attending. I'm a character witness." His jaw was set.

"And will you be for or against?"

Harry didn't respond immediately. "It's not my job to judge him, it's the court. I'm just going to state facts."

Hermione sucked in a sharp breath. "Harry, that's awfully big of you. I don't know if I could do that."

"Yes you would," he gave her a half smile. "Anyway, It's not like the facts are exactly kind to him."

Hermione gave a hum of agreement.

"I will say though," Harry breathed, his face clouded, "people who I thought were bad to their very core have a habit of surprising me. Good and evil isn't as black and white as I once thought."

Hermione instantly pictured Snape who, after years of mutual hatred, revealed that he had been trying to protect Harry all along. Still, it was hard to picture Draco Malfoy doing something for someone besides himself.

"Stop being right, Harry. That's what I'm supposed to be here for," she joked to lighten the mood. Harry's face relaxed and she wished him luck.

"Thanks. See you late, 'Mione."  
...

**D**

Draco glided through the halls of the Ministry feeling like a black cloud. A second collision with Granger was not a great way to start the day, and he knew the next few hours would be excruciating on their own. He was to sit before the Ministry court while they judged his deeds and decided his fate. His father had sat through his own proceedings and made a deal. The elder Malfoy's offerings had earned him a magic suspension house arrest instead of a trip to Azkaban. The court wanted Draco to grovel, he assumed. He wouldn't, but he also didn't have anything to offer in return like his father did. Lucius had the same knowledge as Draco and probably already gave it away in exchange for his lenient treatment.

It wasn't that Draco still held onto the blood supremacy notion on which he was raised. He knew purebloods who he could describe as "dumb as dirt" and muggleborns who were full of talent. He had started to see   
this at the beginning of his time at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, by the time he was realizing it it was too late to back down. Pride wouldn't let him. So he had kept digging himself deeper until he reached the point of no return. The skin on his left forearm prickled as he thought about the Dark Mark, which was nothing more than a scar now that the Dark Lord was defeated.

A middle-aged wizard greeted him coldly as Draco approached his destination. He was shown to an antechamber to wait for his hearing to begin. He sat quietly for a long time and the minutes were dragging by slowly. The clock on the wall told him that his hearing should have started forty-two minutes ago. Draco had incredible self-discipline but the wait was testing his patience. He marched back to the wizard's desk.

"Was there a mix-up with my time?" He drawled, looming tall over the seated wizard.

"No, Mister Malfoy," the wizard replied. The man's features were calm but a crack in his voice showed his intimidation. "They must finish with your character witnesses before you are to be brought in."

_Character witnesses?_ Draco's eyes narrowed. So they were crucifying him in there. Lovely. He returned to his waiting chair in, if possible, a worse mood than before.

The ticking of the clock seemed amplified; it was driving him crazy. He retreated in his thoughts to drown out the infernal noise. His thoughts betrayed him though, they were uncontrollably about just one thing. One person, actually- a certain bushy haired know-it-all who had crossed his path again on his way in. Something about their most recent collision was nagging him. The look in her eyes, it was almost poisonous, such a difference from the sparkle he had seen the other night. Draco shifted uncomfortably when he admitted to himself that he preferred the latter.

Luckily, he didn't have to wait alone with his thoughts any longer. The door into the court room opened and a petite witch beckoned him inside. Draco entered the room. It was round like an amphitheatre with a solitary seat in the middle. To his right, the witches and wizards of the court sat on a high, multilevel dais. To his left, there were several empty rows of seating for an audience. Potter was exiting the center circle and taking a seat in the front row, obviously just having finished his testimony.

Draco went straight to the chair and sat down. He wanted to look the court in the eyes, but couldn't bring himself to do so. Instead he waited for one of them to speak. Front and center on the dais, a stern looking old witch who reminded Draco of Professor McGonagall began.

"Draco Malfoy, you were called before our court to review your actions in and leading up to the Battle of Hogwarts. You are not being charged with anything, this is simply a review." She said and her voice boomed around the circular room.

A wizard to that witch's right continued. "We have just heard from several of your peers as well as one of your teachers at Hogwarts. Now, we need to find out what's in your heart directly from you."  
Draco could feel Potter's eyes burning into the back of his skull, but he refused to turn around. He briefly wished he could have been a fly on the wall of Potter's testimony, but a worry tugged at the back of his mind that he might not want to know what the other boy had said.

The stern witch continued. "Since use of veritaserum is not lawful for informal interrogation, we would like your permission to use the next best way to obtain your full honesty."

Draco raised his eyebrows. The petite witch who had let him in was advancing toward Draco's chair carrying a lump of dingy looking fabric.

"The Hogwarts sorting hat?" he guffawed when he recognized what the lump was.

"Yes. Do we have your permission to proceed?" The stern witch answered.

Draco hesitated. His thoughts could be laid bare in front of this panel, and to Potter who still watching a few feet away. He supposed he didn't have much of a choice, though. He nodded and the sorting hat was placed on Draco's head. Immediately a familiar gruff voice filled his head.

"Still very much a Slytherin," the hat hissed, then took a few moments to probe further. "But there's something new here, yes. Oh, Draco Malfoy, is that regret? Yes, oh yes, it is. I can feel it. Plenty of embarrassment, too, right here. What is that now? You think you're not strong enough because you couldn't follow through on your orders? Well, strength isn't always in action, lad, sometimes it is in inaction. You'll do well to understand that."

The hat spent a painstaking few minutes poking in his brain some more, occasionally tutting in Draco's ear. Then the hat straightened and spoke aloud to address the room. "Draco Malfoy's actions were under duress. He does not agree nor does he wish to carry out any of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's direction. It's all there in his head. Stifled, yes, but there and truthful."  
The counsel on the dais murmured as the sorting hat was removed from Draco's head and whisked away.

"Thank you. This confirms the notions we got from Mr. Potter's testimony." The head witch said with a tone of finality. Draco's head twitched to the side before he could control himself and looked quickly over his shoulder. Potter was looking directly at him, his face unreadable. "Mr. Malfoy, you may leave freely."

No one but Potter moved. Draco stood quickly and followed him out of the room. Potter was meters ahead of him and not slowing down.

"Potter!" he called.

The Boy-Who-Lived stopped and swung around, looking silently back at him. Draco cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, suddenly unsure why he had called out.

"You're welcome," Potter finally said. Draco looked fierce but still didn't say anything else so Potter continued. "Though I didn't really do you any favors. I told them I saw a scared boy who realized the price too late."   
His voice didn't sound angry, rather it sounded like pity. Draco dug his nails into his palms. He owed Potter his life, truly, not just his freedom. The hero had saved him from the fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement, a debt Draco felt would always weigh on him.

"Right. Well, see you around I guess, Potter." He stalked away without waiting to see if Potter would respond. Draco was still smoldering through the halls of the Ministry when he reached the floo grates. His pace slowed as his path was impeded by a large group of people. They were wearing strange looking robes and speaking English in a multitude of accents.

"What a backwards country," one stocky-looking wizard said while looking around. American, no doubt, Draco snorted. Normally he would push past them, but he paused and looked from face to face. The wheels began to turn in his head again.

Why should he have to disguise himself to go out when there was a whole world outside of Wizarding England that he could explore? His face couldn't possibly be known everywhere. Sure, it wouldn't be the comfortable places he was used to haunting, but he could be free to be truly himself. A blank slate.

Yes, this was the answer he really needed. Now, where to go? He scanned the foreign crowd again, hoping for further inspiration. Somewhere that spoke English, preferably, he thought. He didn't want to have to look up a Babel charm for language interpretation. The attitude of the American man had turned him off. His gaze found a dark haired and tanned witch off to the side of the group. She was wearing royal blue robes with glittering white stars. She was chatting to an even darker skinned wizard and comparing her travels so far to her home in Australia.

Draco smiled. He pushed past the crowd with determination. Once he made it home, he would plan his trip and leave his past behind.


	5. Chapter 5

**H**

"Hermione!" Fast footsteps pounded across the Ministry lobby. Harry was careening toward her, eyes squinted with confusion. "I heard a rumour..." he breathed as he stopped beside her at the main security desk. 

Hermione slid her identification badge across the desk to the older wizard on the other side.

Harry balked. "It's true then? You quit?"

"I didn't have any vacation time yet and the Ministry won't grant a leave of absence unless there is an emergency. And I was told this _isn't_ an emergency. Several times." Hermione sniffed with a slight annoyance. "As soon as I said I would go anyway, they tried to change their tune, naturally. If the job is still there when I come back, I'll consider it, if they ask nicely." She winked. Harry still looked unsure.

"Just like that? No plan, no back up? It was only yesterday you decided you were going! I can't believe it."

Hermione's eyes rolled before she could stop herself. "Honestly, Harry, it's as if you don't even know me." She patted the small beaded bag that hung at her hip. There was a low rumble that sounded like a heavy pile of books toppling over. Harry's eyes widened in realization.

"Right. Sorry I doubted you." The two ambled toward the exits. Harry asked, "What is the plan then?"

"I'm taking the long distance train out of King's Cross tonight. That will connect me to another train through to southern Asia and a ship for the final leg. A longer journey will give me some time to read up on higher level tracking charms and memory restoration spells." Harry was looking at her skeptically so she added, "Well you don't expect me to try to apparate that far and risk getting myself splinched, do you?" She had meant it as a joke but they both immediately thought of Ron, seizing and bloody on a forest floor.

Harry coughed. "Well, I'd wish you good luck, but you don't need it. Owl if you need anything. Or, I dunno, however they send post down under."

Hermione blinked quickly to stop her threatening tears. Something about this moment seemed so inexplicably final. "Thank you. You really are a great friend, Harry." He squeezed her hand.

"I'll see you and your parents soon," He replied. Hermione couldn't help it. As she left the Ministry, one tear trailed down her cheek.

After she left the protective charms of the Ministry, Hermione apparated to King's Cross Station. Nostalgia stung in her gut again as she realized her destination wasn't Platform 9 3/4. Instead, she made her way to the area between Platforms 7 and 8. She squared her shoulders and started toward the divider, breaking into a sprint as she got closer. Suddenly, the enormity of King's Cross was gone and she was on Platform 7 1/2. A shiny silver engine waited on the track with five long cars in tow.

Only a handful of people were on the platform. Two wizards were levitating a large trunk into the first car and a couple was embraced in a tender goodbye outside the second car. Hermione scanned the windows and judged that the last car was the only one free of any passengers. She headed there and stepped lightly up the stairs. The car was indeed empty. The front of the car had a few groups of seats arranged to surround tables. The back of the car was lined with compartments that looked only just large enough to fit a skinny single bed.

Hermione chose a seat on the opposite side of the car so she could look to where she was headed. _No looking back_ , she thought. Her watch showed that the train would be departing in exactly three minutes and by the scant look of the crowd on the platform, Hermione drew comfort in the thought that she would probably have the whole car to herself.

Just as she thought that, the compartment door shook open and two large bags appeared struggling to make it through. One bag snagged on the door and gaped open, allowing some of the contents to spill out to the floor. A groan came from behind the bags.

"Why did I choose public transportation?" The groan came again. This time the bags shifted and Hermione could see a pale face and dark hair. Hermione gasped and the man seemed to realize she was there just then. "Sorry, I thought this car was emp..." he cut himself off mid-word.

"Duke?" Hermione wasn't no longer upset to have her solitude interrupted. At least this was someone she could enjoy talking to. "Fancy running into you here!"

Duke smirked. "Actually, thanks for _not_ running into me this time."

Hermione snorted. "I expect you think I'll help you with these." She bent down and reached for a book that had fallen from Duke's bag. Duke reached for the same book and their hands brushed. He pulled back sharply as if his hand had been burned. Hermione's forehead crinkled, but her embarrassment lasted only a second before she caught sight of the name on the cover of the book. "Neridiam Bram?"

"He had some lofty recommendations," Duke muttered. He looked around as he gathered the rest of his scattered belongings. "This is the long-distance train, isn't it?"

"Yes, why?" Hermione questioned.

Duke nodded toward her lonely beaded bag on the seat next to her. "You pack light."

"And you don't," she laughed, watching him try to stuff his bags into the stow area. She patted the bag, "Undetectable extending charm."

"Oh. Smart." Duke replied, seemingly distracted in thought. Hermione beamed. The train's whistle sounded and the engine lurched forward.

"Where are you headed, then?" She ventured tentatively. She couldn't tell by his expression if he felt like conversation.

"Australia, after a few connections," he said casually.

"How odd! That's where I'm going as well!" _What a strange coincidence, she thought_. Even though the logical side of her brain didn't believe in signs, she couldn't shake the feeling of significance. Duke didn't seem to be as amazed. He stared out the window as the landscape started to speed up. He looked a bit agitated. Hermione decided since they had a long trip ahead of them to talk, she would let him be for now. She pulled out a book on advanced tracking spells and began to read.

...  
 **D**

The countryside zoomed past with only the sound of the train clicking along the track. Granger had given up trying to talk shortly after the train embarked and Draco was happy to pretend he was alone in the car. After an hour he had finally given in and picked up his book. He glanced over every few minutes but Granger was too engrossed in her book to notice him anymore. Inside his head he chided himself. He had thought he had wanted the silence, at least her silence, but now that he had it, it left him only his thoughts. He could barely keep his place in the book because his mind wandered uncontrollably.

He recalled his decision of Australia and cursed himself. So rash. So ridiculous that he and Granger would share a destination! He started to drift to how that came to be. His decision had been based on finding some familiarity in an unfamiliar place. His eyes darted to the girl on the opposite side of aisle. He wondered if that was her reasoning, too. He started to imagine Granger's reasons for leaving England and it dawned on him that a particular red head wasn't with her, nor was he with her last Friday night. That must mean something, he thought, but forced himself not to dwell on it. He could feel the sneer growing the longer he thought of the Weasel.

Maybe she had become an adventure junkie. After all that time chasing after Potter, saving the world every year, he could see how she could have gotten addicted. He imagined her in a dim pub, taking challenges from big goony men and outsmarting them.

Wait, where was this coming from? He was supposed to be wallowing in self-pity on the circumstances that led him to sharing a long lonely train ride with one of his most-hated enemies.  
That's better, think back to the train. His stupid decision to use public transportation instead of chartering one of his father's flying carriages. True, he would have had to leave a trail as Draco Malfoy, but it would have been quicker and exponentially more comfortable. He grimaced as he shifted on his seat (which he was sure was at least twice his age). He could only imagine what the mattress would be like when it came to bed time. Maybe he could transfigure his coat into a down cushion? Granger would probably have a way...

Wrong thoughts again. He sighed. Maybe if he could get her to talk her voice would remind him how irritating he found her and he could stop his wild imagination.

A woman entered with a food trolley. The clinking of the dishes was enough to steal Granger's attention from her book. She looked up and slightly in his direction. Damn, she had caught him looking. Draco turned his head to the food trolley as quickly as he could.

"Dinner, dears?" The elderly witch asked. "It comes with the price of your ticket. There will be a light breakfast in the morning, also."

Draco nodded curtly and picked the plate that looked the most edible. Granger chirped her thanks and took a minute to weigh the options before she selected something herself. They each took a bottle of water to go with the food, Draco chose sparkling, and the trolley witch left.

"Lost something, have you?" Draco remarked smoothly. He wanted to bait her.

"I beg your pardon?" Her head tilted as she looked back at him.

"Your book. I think I've just figured out why you're leaving the country. You're trying to find something. Or someone maybe?" He added in a mocking tone. Her face clouded. He must have guessed too close for   
comfort.

"Well I can tell by the way you think of this trip as 'leaving the country' that you must be fleeing something," she bit back. "Done or said something terrible, no doubt. And here I thought you were decent." The last part she mumbled as an afterthought to herself.

Draco felt his stomach sink and he was confused. He had baited her and she had risen to it, so why wasn't he satisfied? Her sullen face seemed to suck the light out of the car. She wouldn't help him conjure a comfortable sleeping surface if he left it this way. And, he hated to admit, the angles of her face were actually easier to look at when she was in a better mood. He chewed his lip wondering how he could soften her again.

"Bram is a fascinating read," he started and flipped a few pages to appear nonchalant. Granger was still turned away. "I picked up a few of his over the weekend. This one's quite new, actually, you may not have had a chance to see it yet?" She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. Draco pretended not to notice and carried on.

"There's a section you might find interesting given your current, well, whatever your situation is. This whole book is just theorizing anyway, so it probably wouldn't be much help, I suppose, but interesting nonetheless."

Granger had turned her full attention back to him now, unable to hide her curiosity.

"Have you ever heard of the Laelaps Compass?" He pointed to a page in the book. Granger left her seat and slid across the aisle into the adjoining seat. Draco pushed over and she read over his shoulder.

"No, I haven't. I hadn't gotten to his newest book. Greek origin, huh?"

Draco felt his chest swell. He was proud to know something she didn't, for once. "Yes, and ancient. Supposedly carved out of a dog rock. Instead of pointing north, it points you in the direction of what you're truly searching for."

"A dog rock?" She exclaimed and pulled the book closer to her. "What does that even mean? There's no such thing!"

Draco guffawed. "Your precious Neridiam Bram wrote it. It's some children's story about a hunting dog that would always get it's prey until the one day it crossed paths with a fox that could never be caught. They were stuck in a paradox that turned them both to stone. A wizard found the stones and turned the dog's stone into the compass and the fox's stone into a mask that could hide you from anyone trying to track you."  
Granger's eyes were devouring the page. He pulled the book back to him slightly. "That's just a kid's story though, so who knows where they really came from? Or if they're even real."

Granger blinked and looked out the window, seeming to recall something. "I've seen truth in children's stories before." She turned back to him and her eyes were guarded again. "Does the book say if he was able to track a possible location?"

"There are some suggestions. But look, I know you believe in this guy's work, but he didn't actually find any solid evidence for these. You can't really be thinking of searching for them?" Draco was incredulous but the determination in her jaw was unmistakable.

"Only one of them, really. I don't need to hide from anything," she retorted pointedly, "and from what I would expect, this compass would be better at finding people than these tracking spells I'm reading about."  
"So it is a person you've lost?" Draco asked, one eyebrow raised. Granger flushed.

"It's not what you think..."

"What do I think?" he pushed.

"You think I'm pining after some bloke who left me. But I'm not pining," she looked away again, "and he didn't leave me."

"But there was a 'he'." Draco confirmed.

"Was." She nodded. Draco nodded back, satisfied that he had needled her enough on the topic. He was getting uncomfortable thinking about her with the Weasel anyway.

"So who is it you're looking for, then?" he asked to change the subject.

"My parents." She looked truly vulnerable in that moment, he was almost sorry he asked. He had no smart comment to respond with so he just sat silently. "I was afraid they would get hurt in the war, or worse, so I... sent them away. Now it's finally safe for them to return."

"Can't you just send them an owl and tell them they can come back?"

Granger shook her head and her frizzy curls bounced against her neck. "I did more than just send them away. Right now they don't know who I am or that they even ever had a daughter."

"You... obliviated your parents?" Draco's mouth hung open. She looked up at him and nodded. Draco could understand family loyalty, it had been his whole purpose for the past few years, but to lose them in order to save them? She must be much stronger than he thought. He snapped his jaw shut once he noticed it was still open.

"Anyway, I hid them pretty well, so that's why I'm thinking... maybe finding this compass is worth a try? Can I just borrow the book for the night? I'll read everything I need and tomorrow it'll be yours again, no worse for the wear." Merlin, she was pleading with him.

"You can read it sure, but, I mean... this is probably hidden better than people could be. With people you know they need access to food, water, and shelter at least. And this compass, if it's even real, why would we be able to find it when the rest of the world and your archaeologist hero Neridiam Bram couldn't find it?" Draco couldn't believe he was entertaining this, but he felt an excitement building in his chest. Her enthusiasm was catching.

"I've done more with less to go on," she countered vaguely.

Draco considered for a minute and she waited. "How about this: I'm going to bed and you can have the book for the night. If you can convince me that you've discovered a legitimate lead to follow by morning, then I'll come with you and you can keep using the books for any clues." Draco offered.

Granger's eyes lit up. "Deal."


	6. Chapter 6

**H**

The door to Duke's sleeping compartment closed behind him with a soft click and Hermione was alone again. A moment of anticipation held her unable to move. Finding this compass, if she could do it, would not only ensure her success in finding her parents, but it would be an extraordinary historical find. This time she wouldn't have to destroy it, unlike the unfortunate fate of Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem, or Helga Hufflepuff's cup. She drew in a breath that she hadn't known she was holding.

Hermione pulled the book closer. She flipped back a few pages to find the beginning of the section on the compass. The passage started with the legend, fairly straightforward and succinct as Duke had described. Hermione reread the story anyway, in case there was an overlooked detail she could find helpful.

Bram wrote of a village in Greece, what must have been thousands of years ago, that was tormented by a giant and terrible fox known as the Cadmean Vixen. No hunter could quell the destruction because the beast was magical, it could never be caught. The fox ravaged the people until one day, a hunter acquired a hound with a gift of its own. The Laelaps hound's magic was that it would always catch its quarry. The hunter set the hound loose, then predator and prey became locked in a loop that neither could break. Since their powers couldn't be undone, the impossibility turned them both to stone. Bram narrated the long held belief that the stones were then cast into the sky as constellations. The dog became Canis Major and the fox Canis Minor, destined to continue their chase through eternity in the heavens.

Below the text, a two-dimensional fox and hound were mid-chase, weaving a figure eight back and forth on the page. Hermione's finger traced the paper just as the fox's tail swished by again, somehow seeming to both escape and be caught in the dog's bite simultaneously. Tearing her eyes away from the image, she turned to the next page, where the compass was finally mentioned.

Hermione breezed through a catalogue of references. Most were unreliable, like pieces of art, and the witch knew that artists often took liberties or used their imaginations to create their works. Still, she lingered on the illustration of a fifteenth century tapestry called _The Hunt of the Unicorn_ that looked vaguely familiar. There were seven panels showing the hunt as it progressed. In each panel she found the same hunting dog wearing a collar unique from the other dogs. The collar bore a medallion with a compass rose. The tapestry was beautiful and intriguing, but hardly solid evidence.

She continued her scan and finally landed on something that made her heart soar: a will. This was what she had been hoping for. It was more concrete than stories or paintings. If something was to be passed down generations, it must be real! Hermione read further. Public archives documented a wealthy man called Acteon who had bestowed an extensive list of belongings to his family. Only a small section was reproduced in the text, but Hermione could sense a pattern. Each item listed was followed by a lengthy description of physical traits and uses. Odd then, Hermione mused, that two of items bequeathed had only titles, no descriptors. To his son Theron, he left something only referred to as the Lapis Canis, and to his daughter Diana, the Lapis Vulpis. Hermione didn't need the author's translations to know what they meant.

_Dog stone. Fox stone._

The two names, especially appearing together, couldn't be coincidence.

But that's where her hope fizzled. Bram couldn't produce evidence of a location after that. Hermione released a loud huff. It truly wasn't much to go on. So where should she start?

The girl opened her beaded bag and reached inside, extracting a piece of parchment and a quill. She stared at the blank page with squinted eyes. Slowly she connected the inked quill to the parchment without really knowing what she intended to write.

_Dog. Canine. Hound._  
Fox. Vulpine.  
Hunter and prey.  
Stones turned stars.  
Compass. Mask. 

She stopped. So far she had just created a list of terms that were associated with the objects. The words swarmed inside her head in a loop, like the dog and the fox in their figure eight chase. She read the text in its entirety twice more, but there were only a precious few pages, only a finite amount of information. At school, she could cross reference with any of thousands of tomes housed in the Hogwarts Library. Here on the train, she only had the books that she had thought to pack, and they were all centered on tracking, spell reversal, or memory. With no one to even bounce ideas off of, she was at the mercy of her own memory.

_Memory._ It was like the word was teasing her. Her books on tracking were looking more and more inviting with every passing minute that she wasn't struck with an ingenious revelation.

She was staring absentmindedly at the moving illustration again. Hermione's eyes followed the dog, leaping in muscular bounds and snapping its jaw. Her quill hovered back over her parchment and she started a new note.

_Laelaps. Inescapable hunter._  
Fluffy. Three-headed guardian.  
Grim. Death omen.  
Crup. Wizarding dog breed.  
Animagus dogs. Padfoot. Sirius. 

Hermione chewed her lip. The list was simply supposed to be any magical dogs that she could come up with, but it had stirred her emotions. Her finger swept over Sirius's name, causing the still wet ink to smudge. Her eyes scanned up further and rolled when they reached the grim. She ran a thick line through the words 'death omen' and replaced them with the word 'nonsense'. She underlined the word with such force that she tore the parchment.

Hermione turned to the glass pane next to her for distraction. Outside the train's windows, the landscape had been replaced with a blanket of dark grey. The clouds were so thick and omnipresent that it was impossible to detect where the moon was. Impossible to tell how much time she had wasted going in mental circles, unless she dared peek at her watch.

She dared.

"Brilliant," she groaned sarcastically when she saw how late it was. She must have gotten too lost in thought as usual. Panic hit her in the gut when she thought ahead to her deadline of morning. So far she had bugger all to tell Duke. Sure, she could get another copy of Bram's book if Duke didn't agree to go with her on the search, his copy wasn't the only in existence. She remembered her days in the tent with Harry and Ron, how all her breakthrough ideas came from conversation. It was easier to think with a partner, she admitted begrudgingly. Not that she wasn't smart enough to do it on her own, she thought quickly, it's just...  
Hermione rapped her fingers against the book, recalling her own focus. She was wasting time again trying to rationalize her desire for Duke's presence. She decided she would shelve that question for now. It would be a moot point if she were unable to produce a convincing argument for him to embark on this farfetched scheme anyway. With a sigh, she turned to the book again, resolving to read the passage as many times as she needed to come up with something. Anything. She would read it one hundred times if she needed to. And if after one hundred times she still had nothing, maybe she'd just have to use the rest of the night to come up with a convincing white lie.

...  
 **D**

Sunlight outlined the window shade and illuminated Draco's sleep compartment, rousing him out of his uncomfortable position on the bed. His spine protested when he attempted stand and he emerged from the compartment rubbing his neck sourly.

A mess of muddy brown curls splayed across the table told him that Granger had not gone to her bed compartment all night. She was slumped forward with his book open under her left hand. Her head had found the crook of her right arm in a harsh angle. Draco smiled to himself, feeling a slight victory that he probably slept more comfortably than Granger had.

Her face didn't look any more peaceful in sleep than it did in her waking hours, Draco noticed. He openly studied her, something he had never allowed himself to do before. The corners of her mouth were slightly turned down and her forehead was wrinkled with tension. He didn't know what he had expected, but she looked almost sickly when he couldn't see the fire in her eyes. Draco turned his nose up, wondering whether or not to wake her.

He couldn't weigh his decision long as the trolley witch from the previous night re-entered the compartment. This time the trolley was steaming with fresh baked goods and hot beverages.

"Good morning!" The older witch greeted quietly, having noticed the sleeping girl. "I've got tea or coffee, or juice if you'd prefer something cold?"

"Tea," Draco replied shortly. The trolley witch bristled slightly but poured him a cup. She stayed after she finished pouring the cup, looking at him expectantly. "And, uh... jam toast?" She fixed his toast but still didn't leave. She slowly looked between Draco and the still sleeping Granger meaningfully.

"Oh! Er..." Draco stumbled. How was he supposed to know what Granger wanted? He glanced at her again and decided her teacher-like attitude would earn her an apple. "Tea for her as well, and an apple." He chose a green apple for Slytherin and placed it on the table between them. When the trolley witch still hadn't moved he contorted his face in mock gratitude. "Thank you, er, that will be all." Finally seeming satisfied, she left him alone again with Granger. Draco returned to studying the slumbering girl in front of him with amusement. Her lips had now parted slightly and he could see the glisten of drool threaten the edge of her mouth.

Draco took a bite of his toast with a commanding crunch and he noticed a parchment that was half under Granger's arm. He could just make out a handwritten word and scoffed. Granger had taken notes? What did she think this was, school? Still, he wanted to know what she had come up with, and his curiosity only grew when he realized it was wedged too far under her arm to read it Drcao looked back up to Granger's eyes. He was unsure how light of a sleeper she was. She did sleep through the trolley witch's visit so maybe he had a chance. Before he could think better, he gripped the corner of the parchment and tugged. Stuck. He put down his toast so he would have both hands free. With his right hand he kept a hold on the parchment and with his left hand he reached for Granger's arm. If he could just lift it, not even a millimeter, he could release her hold on the parchment. Draco held his breath and...

Granger's hand was around her wand in an instant and Draco found the tip of it pointed just between his eyes, widened with surprise. He narrowed them and regained his exposure.

"Good morning to you, too." He hissed coolly and motioned to her wand. "Do you mind?"

Granger blinked the sleep from her eyes. "Sorry," she mumbled and lowered her wand. She looked around and wiped the back of her hand against her mouth uneasily. "How long...?"

"Were you asleep? Have I been here?" Draco offered, enjoying her self-conscious aura. "A bit," he replied devilishly. "Did you know you talk in your sleep?" Yes, he hadn't actually heard her talk, but he was greatly enjoying seeing her squirm.

Granger looked down to avoid his stare and noticed the paper that was still stuck under her arm. Her face morphed into a sly grin. "Well, did _you_ know I made some discoveries last night?"

Draco dropped his veneer and watched her with anticipation. He could tell she knew she held the power now. She turned her gaze to the tea and apple before her, stalling.

"Did you get this for me?" She blew steam off the tea.

"Yes. It's plain, I didn't know how you take it." He waved her off. "You said you dis.."

"I actually like it plain. Thank you." She took a small sip

"Good. Fine. Now about the..."

"And a green apple?"

Draco sighed. She was holding out on him on purpose. Alright then, he'll play her game. "Well I wondered if you might like red better, famous Gryffindor and all, but as you were sleeping I made the choice for you."   
He growled with impatience.

"No, you must be an accomplished Legilimens, I prefer a tart green over an overly sweet red." She turned the apple in one hand, relishing his glare. "So, Legilimens, shouldn't you know what I know already." She arched an eyebrow in challenge.

"Tell me now, Granger, or you can give me back my book." He held out his hand. She pushed it away lightly.

"Please call me Hermione," she acquiesced. When his hand returned to the table she continued. "The first thing I can tell you is that it's real. They're real."

Draco leaned forward so that he was literally on the edge of his seat.

"Remember the will? If this man Acteon was trying to stoke the legend, wouldn't he have described the power of these stones? Boasted a little?" She leaned forward too, conspiratorially. "It's as if he wanted it to be a   
secret, so no one would find out and try to steal them."

"Oh come on, _Hermione_ ," Draco grumbled, "Sure, I buy it, but I thought you'd have something better than that after all night."

Granger hid her face behind her tea cup for a minute. When she emerged he could tell she was trying hard to keep her face passive. "Duke, I can't show all my cards, can I?"

Draco started at the name. He had almost forgotten about his charade. He wondering vaguely if he had done enough to disguise his voice in the last two days. Granger was now chewing her apple, thinking she had won, no doubt. Draco regarded her suspiciously. He had a strong feeling in his gut that she was exaggerating how much she had discovered over night. She was calling his bluff, banking that he'd come with her anyway! He conceded inwardly that he did want an adventure, and he always had a passion for magical artefacts. The company may not be his first choice, but as partners go he guessed her know-it-all attitude would likely prove successful in a quest like this. And maybe, a glint of hope warmed his chest, if he could help find the compass and mask, just maybe his reputation didn't have to be of a failed Death Eater anymore.

He exhaled loudly. "Where to, then?"


	7. Chapter 7

**H**

"Did you know that the largest known star is part of Canis Major?" Hermione murmured as she craned her neck to take in the celestial display in front of her. She and Duke were at a Muggle astronomy museum in Greece on the third day after they departed the train. They had settled into the first wizarding lodge they found and spent each day wandering the nearby cities and each night huddled in candle light rereading the book aloud to each other. They were getting on well enough, Hermione thought, but Duke was so reserved that she couldn't be sure if he thought the same.

"Yes," Duke grumbled back, his neck twisted to look past her toward the other end of the display. "Did you know that Polaris hasn't always been the North Star?" he countered. They had fallen into an intellectual rivalry in the past three days, often starting conversations with 'Did you know,' and trying to catch the other off guard. He hadn't bested her yet, Hermione gloated inwardly, but she loved the challenge.

"Of course," she pouted her lips in mock anger. "It was once Vega, from the constellation Lyra, and Thubin, from the constellation-"

"Draco." Duke cut her off absentmindedly. Hermione pouted for real this time, annoyed that Duke hadn't let her finish.

"Look who knows all about astronomy," she huffed. She turned to him and crossed her arms but he hadn't yet taken his stare off the celestial model.

"My family has a thing about stars," he responded in a cool, even tone.

"Fans of Divination?" Hermione rolled her eyes but continued to study Duke's face.

"No." Duke finally faced her, but he didn't elaborate. Hermione felt a chill run down her back. Duke's creased brow made his gray eyes appear darker and when he was lost in mysterious thoughts, he exuded a menacing aura. She stood her ground, refusing to let herself be intimidated by him. She looked between him at the model stars impatiently. Eventually his features melted into haughty frustration.

"What are we even doing in this _Muggle_ museum?" he asked, throwing his hands to the side. "It's been three days of this... this.. nothing. You told me you had found something."

"I've already explained to you _four_ times on the way here," Hermione scolded. She scanned the room to make sure there was no one near enough to hear them. "You've made it abundantly clear that I have _no_ chance to find the compass and mask because no other witch or wizard has before. So it only makes sense that no other magic person has found it because they wouldn't think to search Muggle information for magical artefacts." She sighed with exasperation but secretly she was proud of the revelation she had earlier that day.

He shook his head at her. "Fine, we're here. Where are they? Where is our next clue?"

Hermione suddenly became intensely defensive. She was starting to get used to Duke's sudden mood shifts, but she had yet to grasp what caused his transformation from almost playful opponent to fiery foe. "That's not how it works, it's not that easy. But if you have any brilliant suggestions, I'm all ears."

"I came with you because I thought you knew something," he groaned.

Hermione bit her lip to hold back. She didn't want to have a row in public, especially Muggle public, just in case Duke couldn't keep his voice down. She lowered her voice hoping he'd follow suit, but her eyes narrowed in warning. "I did. I mean I do. I'm just sorry it's not enough for you right now." Duke seemed surprised at her words but didn't respond.

"You can go if you want. I've obviously tricked you somehow. No one is making you stay." Hermione swallowed hard as her memory echoed Harry's words just before Ron had left them alone on their Horcrux hunt. She felt instead of remembered the pain of watching Ron storm away and then disappear, abandoning them. Abandoning her. She steeled herself for Duke to do the same and she waited.

But he didn't. He was quiet and motionless. His face doing a seesaw of emotions back and forth between what looked like frustration and longing. Duke didn't often show emotions other than anger or pride and Hermione was transfixed with watching his rarely spotted soft expression. She must have been staring though, because once Duke noticed, he collected himself and his face was blank again. He coughed awkwardly and stared back at the star display.

"Did you know the constellation Centaurus has largest number of visible stars?" He was feigning a casual air, but his tone seemed resentful. For some reason, though, Hermione felt like his anger wasn't being directed at her. She looked at him incredulously. "Did you know it?" he asked again.

"Yes, yes, I knew it. One hundred and one stars," she waved the question off with a flick of her hand. "You're still here."

Duke sighed deeply and mumbled. "I'll never beat you, will I?" He then turned his back to her and announced more loudly, "I'm hungry. Are you coming?"

Hermione's shock only strengthened as she fell into step behind him. _Why didn't he leave?_ The thought tickled her brain and drained into her chest where it became a warm lump. She pushed her theories aside and caught one last glimpse of stars as she left the museum. She needed to spend less time trying to figure out Duke's motivation and more time researching the compass. _Now if only he could be a little less confusing._


	8. Chapter 8

**D**

Granger sat across the table sipping on her coffee in the midday sun. They had chosen an outdoor seat at the café because, as hot as it was outside, it was that much hotter inside. Draco grumbled to himself that these Muggles didn't have a contraption to cool the air and he squirmed in his long sleeve shirt. He wished he could push the sleeves up at least, but didn't dare to bare the skin on his left forearm. What was left of the dark mark was a revolting scar that would no doubt send Granger packing. It was probably for the best anyway, Draco thought, the bright sun was already flushing an angry pink across the bridge of his nose and forehead. His pale skin was not used to this kind of exposure.

Draco looked across the table and noticed Granger was in long sleeves, too. It couldn't have anything to do with keeping her skin from the sun, he mused. Her face and hands had started to glow as if bronzed. She fanned herself from time to time when a few beads of sweat appeared at her hairline. And then it hit him, another memory he had tried so hard to hide: Granger, dirty and bloody, writhing on the drawing room floor at Malfoy Manor; pained whines mingling with a deranged cackle; Aunt Bellatrix's knife glinting silver and red.

Draco choked on his coffee, jarring him back to present. Granger seemed to be roused from a reverie as well and looked at him curiously. She set her coffee cup down and chewed her lip.

"Duke?" she said over the crowd. He could hear her apprehension.

Draco said nothing but tilted his head slightly to the side to show he was listening.

Granger sighed heavily. "I don't... I don't understand why you're here." She wasn't looking at him, and he was glad of it.

Draco shrugged and feigned nonchalance despite the heat in his chest that had nothing to do with the weather. "You told me to leave. I simply decided that I would not be told what to do."

Granger looked up and leaned in closer. "No, I don't mean why you stayed. I mean why you came in the first place." She paused. "You know about me, about my family. But I know nothing about you or your motives."

Draco crossed his arms across his chest. "You can mind your business. You can know me without knowing my past." He sneered but shifted away from her stare.

Granger leaned back again and mirrored his stance, crossing her arms as well. "I see. It seems then we were both right on that train. I was searching for someone and you were running from something." She turned so she faced the street and watched the passersby.

Draco saw her face, hardened in anger, and he turned the opposite way to face the cafe. The window reflected his altered image and an unfamiliar courage rumbled inside him.

"I did things," he confessed breathlessly, talking more to his unrecognizable reflection than to her. The hair on his neck prickled as he felt her eyes return to him. He shook his head. "No, I almost did things."  
He shook his head again. This was one of the truest things he's ever said, maybe the truest he would ever say, he wanted to get it right. "No. Some very bad people did some even worse things and I... I helped." Draco's reflection looked so childish and pathetic. He shuddered with revulsion at the sight and turned back to Granger. She whispered but her intensity carried over the buzz of the street traffic.

"Unforgivable things?"

Draco looked at her through his eyelashes. "I hope not."

She turned away again, not angrily this time, but contemplative. Draco realized he must have been holding his breath and sucked in a deep gasp. Why did he just admit that? His inner voice was screaming. Maybe the temperature had finally driven him mental. How else could he explain showing his greatest weakness to one of his greatest enemies. Light played off the window next to him and caught his attention again. No, it must be this blasted disguise. He'd been in his masquerade too long and he was losing himself to it. Draco studied the eyes, still _his_ eyes, and thought to himself that he never remembered feeling more like himself but less like Draco Malfoy. The strange thought occurred to him that those may not always be the same thing.

His eyes flitted to Granger's long sleeve again. And why was she his enemy anyway? Because of the word that was scarred on her flesh? A word that now seemed dirtier to him than it's implication? He had been there when it was carved, saw the blood leak from her veins. Had her blood looked any different from his own after all?

No, this line of thought irked him, and was popping up in his mind all too often over the last few days. He was finding fewer and fewer things to be annoyed with in her presence. His word choice was shifting. Instead of know-it-all he started to think of her as clever. Instead of bossy he was starting to admire her authority. He hadn't noticed until now, and just as he was about to internally chastise himself, Granger slapped her forehead loudly.

"Merlin! How could I be so daft?"

"Excuse me?"

Her eyes were wide with excitement and her words tumbled out so fast that Draco struggled to keep up. "We went to a Muggle astronomy museum, chasing after the legend that the hound and the fox were turned to stars, but of course that would have been an act of magic that Muggles couldn't track. Muggles wouldn't have a piece of the heavens on Earth."

"Er... right," Draco nodded, not following. Muggles and their way of life made little sense to him.

"I don't know why I didn't go straight to the literal story. Objects like a compass and a mask could be mundane if the origin was unknown. The mask- it would be in some kind of art display perhaps, a theatre most likely. The ancient Greeks used masks in their plays, you know, like comedy and tragedy? No, sorry, you wouldn't know."

Draco furrowed his brow. "Okay, but the mask isn't the one we're after. I mean, not the one you're after. It's possible but unlikely that they're together as a set after all these years if they were handed down to different people in that will. It's especially unlikely if your theory of Muggle ownership is correct. Muggles likely wouldn't see a correlation between a mask and a compass."

Granger nodded. "So we focus on the compass. That's related to navigation or travel. I think museums are still the best chance. It's bound to be viewed as a historical item even in Muggle culture. I'll have to go back through my tour books to see if there's a navigation museum around here..." She was rummaging in her beaded bag and pulled out a handful of pamphlets that she had acquired since their arrival.

"Um, Granger?" Draco started but she pursed her lips. "Sorry, _Hermione_. I feel the need to suggest, what if it's not exactly local anymore?"

Granger nodded again. "I've considered it," she said sourly, "but this is the only place that we know for sure has any connection. Anywhere else would be a stab in the dark. Aha! Here's one," she pointed to a page in her pamphlet, "It's a maritime museum but there's a picture of an old map so it seems promising." Her eyes were sparkling with anticipation and Draco thought rather than felt he should feel disgusted by it.

Draco swirled his coffee, took one last sip, and gazed into the bottom of his cup. "Did you know they make coffee with loose grounds in these parts? It's like tea leaves." He heard a laugh that reminded him of a tinkling bell. He had meant the comment to shake her, her feelings about tea leaves and divination as a whole were notoriously cynical. But here she was, laughing. _Sweetly_.

"Shall we?" She asked.

**"Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask and he will tell you the truth." Oscar Wilde**


	9. Chapter 9

**H**

Hermione squinted at the building in front of her, their fourth museum of the day. She lifted her right foot to take a step closer to the entrance but stopped with her foot still in the air.

"Something doesn't feel right about this place. I don't think we should go in and waste our time," she said and turned on her heel. As she turned she ran straight into Duke who was in step just behind her. She stumbled back with a blush.

"You're joking, right?" Duke scoffed.

"No," she planted her feet squarely and stuck up her chin. "We've been at the museum search for a week now, I thought you would be thankful that I'm trying to cut this short."

"Uh, sure, but this is the third time you've done this," Duke retorted. Hermione couldn't help but think his expression seemed more curious than frustrated.

"So this is the third museum that I'm ruling out. Your point being?" She raised an eyebrow in defiance.

"Well, that's just it, Hermione. My point is that this _isn't_ the third museum you've ruled out. This is the same museum that you have suggested and now ruled out _three times_." He was definitely looking at her like she was off her rocker. Her jaw slackened. Was it the same museum?

"I... No, it can't be. Is it?" Her brain felt foggy and she realized she couldn't picture the entrances or come up with the names to the other two museums. "What does that mean?"

"You're knackered. You can't be getting enough sleep. The walls at the lodge are pretty thin, I can hear you turning pages all night." Duke was scowling and rubbing his chin.

Hermione looked over her shoulder at the museum entrance again, puzzled. Was it truly the same museum?

"Do you think..." Duke eyes were following a group of tourists but he seemed preoccupied, "maybe you're being repelled?"

"Repelled? Like a protective charm?" Hermione laughed but the suggestion made sense. A sudden idea hit her. "No, like the mask!" Duke cocked his head to the side, a habit that Hermione was starting to recognize as a nonverbal question. "Think about it, if the mask was still with the compass, it would make the compass impossible for me to catch." Hermione's mind was racing. It was mad to hope the two pieces were still together, but it was the only explanation that would account for why she couldn't seem to make it through that door. Or why she couldn't even remember that she had avoided the same place three times. But how could she confirm it? And how could she get the compass if she would change her mind before she even got in the building, and then forget the whole experience?

"Wait," she said, snapping her head up to look at Duke's steely gray eyes, "if we're right and you were looking for the compass, shouldn't you want to leave this museum, too?"

"I was just wondering myself." Duke's fingers tapped rapidly against his leg. Hermione tried to read his face, and was even more confused when she saw a hint of embarrassment.

"You should forget like I did. Unless your goal wasn't the compass," she offered. He looked at her out of the corner of his eyes and she swore she saw his cheeks pink darker than his growing sunburn. If he was not affected by the mask's powers because he wasn't searching for the compass, then what did that mean about why he was still there? The question was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't bring herself to ask. She wasn't sure that he'd answer even if she did.

"Maybe you can go in and find it then," Hermione proposed.

He shrugged and started past her. After a few long strides he spun back around. "On second thought, you're right. This can't be the place. Is there another possibility to try today?"

Hermione spun around. "Are you mocking me?"

"Were you not listening? I told you that you were right. Ten points to Gryffindor. Let's search another prospect. I know you've got a whole list in that bag." He began to walk away.

_Ten points to Gryffindor? How would a Durmstrang alumnus know something like that?_ Hermione wondered, but shook it off to chase after Duke's retreating form. "Duke, stop." He slowed, allowing her to catch up. 

"You were just repelled. Think about how silly I looked a few minutes ago and take a look in the mirror right now!"

Duke stopped abruptly. Hermione could feel that something she just said struck a nerve with him. He brushed past it quickly and soon he was scanning the crowd. "Can we send someone else in? No, if we ask them to look for the compass or mask they would just get repelled, too."

"We could ask someone to just go in there and take a photo of all the displays? That way we could at least confirm that it's in there?" She was grasping at straws, and knew before he responded that it wasn't really a viable option.

"Oh sure, how does this sound, 'Excuse me, ma'am. My friend and I can't go into that museum and we can't tell you why, but we really need to see what's inside. Would you mind taking shots of everything in there? Thanks.' Not dodgy in the slightest." Duke put his hands in his pockets.

"Fine, scratch that." Hermione began to pace. Neither of them could enter the museum, definitely a hurdle there. However, the thought that Duke was repelled once his intent changed was pretty strong evidence that the compass and mask were together inside the building. It was doubtful that a summoning charm would work, as that would technically mean she caught something that was magically uncatchable. Not wanting to miss something obvious, she tried a quick _Accio_ anyway, but after several minutes with no result, moved on. She was still gripping the handle of her concealed wand when a new thought dawned on her.

"We have to search for it by not searching."

"Have you gone mad? How would we do that?" Duke rolled his eyes.

"Magic, of course," Hermione smiled. "We make the compass search for us. And it >em>always finds it's target." She marched down the crowded street purposefully with Duke in tow. "I think I know just how!"


	10. Chapter 10

**D**

"Magnetite?" Draco picked up a stone from the store bin in front of him and rolled it between his fingers.

" _Lodestone_ , to be exact," Granger quipped back. Correcting someone felt like it was second nature to her, but Draco could tell her normal confidence was lacking. "Lodestone is magnetite that is naturally magnetized."

The pair was standing in an aisle of a shop called _Demetri's Rocks and Minerals_ in Kekrymmenopolis, Greece's version of Diagon Alley. Granger had dragged him all the way here without yet explaining her plan.   
Draco hadn't figured out if that was because she thought it would be obvious to him or if she wanted to make sure she still knew more than he did. He followed her silently as she looked around for the lodestone.

"If I'm going to force the compass to look for me I have to make myself attractive." She said when she finally found the correct display. Draco snorted in response, trying to keep his laughter under his breath. Granger looked up and her cheeks flared a violent red when she caught his smirk. "I mean a magical... magnetic attraction..." she mumbled and turned back to the barrels. She grabbed a jagged gray chunk and freed it from the magnetic hold with a firm tug.

"Attraction, huh? That's actually a good point, we should imbue them with a love potion and your little plan might work." Draco grunted and pulled another lodestone off the pile. Granger looked at him in confusion, still blushing furiously. This time he couldn't control his laughter. "Didn't you know there is no such thing as a _true_ love potion?"

"Yes, I _know_ that. Not that I would have any cause, of course." Granger grabbed the mineral from his hand and stalked to the check out counter. She jabbed the bell on the counter pointedly several times but the place was deserted.

Draco sauntered up behind her, enjoying making her squirm. "What I mean is, the strongest love potion is only able to replicate extreme attraction. It might be something one could... tweak for another kind of attraction. That is, if that person had gotten an O in potions all through school."

Granger rounded on him. "That's actually not a terrible idea!" She slapped her coins on the counter to pay for the lodestone and hurried toward the door. "I must have some book that would help. Just have to figure out what I could add..."

"Actually not terrible?" Draco exclaimed, but her frizzy tresses were already several steps ahead of him when he started. "Hold on, I _meant_ me!" He called and dashed after her.

...

The rest of the day seemed to fly by. They picked up a cup's worth of love potion at another shop and two other ingredients. They settled on fox fur, as the fox was the known prey of the original hunting dog, and pigeon blood. ( _Did you know pigeons use the Earth's magnetic field to navigate?_ Granger had said, to which Draco replied, _Why would I care two knuts about pigeon travel?_ ). Their last ingredient would be shavings from the lodestones. They both acknowledged that they were making it up as they went along, but with each new idea, Draco felt more secure that they could really pull it off. Several hours later found them in Granger's room at the wizarding lodge, standing around a levitating cauldron over a conjured flame.

Granger poured the original potion out of it's bottle and into the cauldron. Slowly as it warmed, tendrils of smoke coiled into the air. Draco noticed that Granger moved back a few steps and covered her nose, but he didn't remember why until the smoke hit him. The aroma was warm and inviting: a woody bonfire before a Quidditch match and the deep fruity smell of wine. He backed away from the cauldron to try to catch a breath of fresh air, then a third smell then crowded his nostrils and he coughed.

"Hermione," he gagged out between coughs, "I thought I asked you to wear a little less perfume around me!"

Granger's eyes looked like they were going to bulge right out of her sockets. She looked at the floor and smiled slightly. He thought he heard her say "You did," but he couldn't hear much over his own coughing. Granger fanned the smoke away and Draco regained control of his breathing.

The potion fizzed as she added the new ingredients. "Lodestone shavings. Fox fur. Pigeon blood." Granger stirred the concoction and let them combine before she lowered the two lodestones directly in to simmer.   
When they thought the stones had been good and boiled, Granger put out the fire and strained the potion.

Under the cover of darkness they apparated outside the museum. Draco waited while Granger set a few Muggle repelling charms. When she finished, she joined him just inside her charm. "Now what?" he asked uncertainly.

"I'm not sure," she squinted at the stones in her open hands as if they might turn into a book and tell her what to do. Draco was stroking his chin in thought when he heard a sharp crack, like shattering glass. Then another. Suddenly he was aware of a dark object whizzing toward them. His seeker instincts took over and his arm shot up, catching the missile in midair.

An alarm was blaring from somewhere in the museum. Draco barely noticed Granger silence it with a spell because he was on his knees watching a deep purple bruise already blossoming in his palm. He held the projectile in his other hand, having nearly forgotten about it due to the pain. Draco heard Granger tutting and shot another spell at his hand. Instantly the bruising color retreated and the throbbing subsided. With a breath of relief, they both finally looked at the object in his other hand.

" _Merlin_ , it really worked!" Granger grabbed his hand with hers and held it tenderly, in awe of their prize. Her hands felt like an electric current, but Draco didn't pull back, he was too stunned. "How's your transfiguration?" she asked and threw him one of the lodestones.

He realized what she meant, but snickered to himself. "You tell me," he replied with a playful wink. Draco took a moment to familiarize himself with what the compass and mask looked like. They were smaller than he imagined and stuck together as if back to back. He trained his wand on the lodestone and it transformed into an exact replica. Granger smiled with approval, then sent the forgery flying back into the museum. With another few waves of her wand, the glass windows repaired themselves and the protection charms dissolved. Without speaking, they disapparated and reappeared in Granger's rented room.

"Bring it here," she urged and Draco held his hand under the light. Carefully, they pried the two pieces apart. The mask only received a cursory glance before it was stored in Granger's bag and together they turned to the compass.

It was almost perfectly round and covered the entirety of Draco's palm. On one side, it was as flat as a skipping stone, but on the top there was an almost needle-like protrusion and a circle groove ran a ring about half the size of the stone. They could tell the stone used to be a light gray, but was stained with splotches of rusty browns.

"It's blood," Draco announced. He had seen enough of it in his life to recognize it right away, even when it was old and dry.

"So I have to prick myself," Granger concluded. Shaking, she raised a finger towards the compass and sucked in a deep breath.


	11. Chapter 11

**H**

Duke pulled the compass away before Hermione's finger reached the sharp point. "Maybe we should call it a night and get a fresh start in the morning," he suggested.

Hermione had half a mind to refuse. These were her parents she was looking for and now that she was this close, she couldn't imagine waiting another minute. She softened her resolve when she noticed how shadowed Duke's eyes were. He had made that comment earlier in the day that she wasn't getting enough sleep, but it didn't hit her until just then that if he was hearing her turn her book pages, he must be awake at night too.

"Well, I guess I _am_ just running on adrenaline now," she conceded.

Duke nodded. "I could share some Dreamless Sleep potion with you. Wait here." He left the room and returned quickly with a shiny flask. Hermione accepted the flask from his outstretched hand and took a deep swig. As she passed it back, she noticed a monogram etched into the metal on the back side. _DM_.

"Duke?"" She already felt herself feeling drowsy.

"Hmm?" he intoned back, but her thoughts were starting to slow to a dream-like rhythm and she couldn't get her question out. Duke lead her over to the bed and pushed her gently so she sat on the edge of the mattress. "Good night, Hermione," was the last thing she heard before she fell heavy onto the pillow and slumber overtook her.

**…**

In the light of the morning, Hermione awoke feeling rejuvenated. She couldn't hear any movement from Duke's room next door, so she stole away to pick up some breakfast at the nearest café. By the time she was back, she could hear rustling from behind Duke's door. She knocked and the rustling paused, then started up again in a rush. After a minute, the door opened to Duke with dripping wet hair and a shirt only half buttoned, a bath towel hanging from his hand.

"Sorry," Hermione felt heat on her cheeks and averted her eyes. "I picked up breakfast. I was checking if you were ready to head out."

"Nearly," he yawned and rubbed his hair with the towel and then went to hang it in the bathroom. Hermione stood awkwardly on the other side of the threshold, unsure if she should enter. Duke peeked around the door of the bathroom.

"What, are you a vampire? Come in, then," he called.

Hermione chuckled softly and stepped through the doorway. She took a seat at the desk chair and looked around. Duke's room was a mirror image of her own. The headboard of his bed butted up against the wall opposite her and she knew the bed she slept in was just on the other side of that wall. The idea that she had slept so close to him without realizing sent an excited shiver down her spine. Duke finally emerged again and perched on the desk to eat the breakfast Hermione brought. Since she had already eaten while she waited, she sat and watched him eat. He was going far too slow for her liking.

"Honestly!" she huffed when she couldn't take it any longer. "I waited all night because of you, can we get a move on?"

"Don't act like you're not thankful for a good night's rest," he guffawed and swallowed his last bite. "You definitely look better for it." She looked at him sideways and he added, "You look like you feel better, I mean."

Duke crossed the room and grabbed the compass out from the drawer of his bedside table. He brought it back to Hermione and she perked up immediately. "Now where were we," she said. She lifted her finger, imagined the happy faces of her parents, and hissed sharply as she pricked herself. A few drops of her blood fell onto the compass, funneling into the circular groove. Slowly the blood ran the length of the groove. Once the ring was closed, the pointer spun around and stopped abruptly.

"Which direction is it?" Duke asked.

"Southeast," Hermione replied without needing to check. "That's the way to Australia from here, I already know that's where they are. Our train and boat tickets are eligible for rain checks so we can just continue as originally intended."

Duke grimaced. "Can we perhaps make a change of plans? That last train ride wasn't too comfortable and the more I think, the more I'd like to avoid boat travel. I've never been much of a fan."

"Well, I've used a good bit of my savings on those tickets..." she hesitated.

"I'll take care of the money. Don't say no, it would really be a favor to me, I swear," he pleaded. Hermione sighed back at him and agreed.

"Oh, alright!"

Duke smiled and busied himself with packing the last of his belongings. While Hermione watched, a thought struck her. When the Durmstrang students visited Hogwarts they had come on a ship, hadn't they? How could he have gone to a school for seven years and not be used to travelling by ship? As she pondered, another confusion surfaced. She remembered the flask.

"Duke, what's your last name?"

Duke froze. "Why do you ask?"

"I just remembered that you've never told me. I saw the initials on your flask last night." After she spoke Duke began moving again, but his back was to her.

"Minks."

"Duke Minks." Hermione racked her brain trying to remember if she ever read anything about a Minks family before. She didn't have much time to digest the knowledge though as Duke quickly changed the subject.

"All set, let's head out."

**…**

Hermione's feet hit the ground first, but the momentum of her fall sent her rolling to the ground. She looked behind her as Duke graciously rode the Portkey magic to a soft landing. He looked amused as he extended his arm down to help her up.

"I've never travelled that far by Portkey," she explained. She tried to look nonchalant but her stomach still had the telltale fish hook feeling that always came along with Portkeys. Duke only shrugged. Hermione brushed dirt off her clothes and looked at her surroundings. Australian air even tasted sweet, she thought. It was winter here, but the chill was starting to give way to hints of spring. The long sleeves of her shirt didn't feel so restricting anymore. Her breath caught in her throat when she realized that must mean it's September already.

Hermione observed the sun already at it's pinnacle in the sky. They had probably lost five hours with the time zone shift. "Come on, let's not waste daylight."

The pair set off following the compass needle. Without a better magical option, they walked through fields, trudged down lonely roads, and several hours later, even Hermione began to lament their lack of broomsticks. If only she could tell how much further they had to trek! Almost on cue, the needle which had remained relatively steady for the trip so far started bouncing around. It jumped left. Then it jumped right.  
"Oh no!" Hermione wailed. Her hope of finding her parents seemed to crash all around her. Duke watch the needle dance and furrowed his brow.

"Hermione, when you pricked yourself, did you imagine both of your parents or just one?"

"Both, of course!"

Duke stared off into the distance for a moment, oscillating his view between the arrow's dueling directions. "It's showing you both. Your mum and dad must not be together right now." Hermione's face fell with disappointment. How would she choose who to find first if she had to split them up?

Duke continued. "Think about it though. That's got to mean we're getting close. If the needle was steady before that means they were just in a general direction that way from us," Duke threw his arm toward the horizon, "and now it's narrowing down to specifics. We're _close_."

Hermione felt hope swell in her chest again. Duke was right. He had to be. "It makes sense," she admitted, "but how do I decide which way to follow?" Hermione closed her eyes and she could feel the compass pulse like a heartbeat. Eventually she sighed, defeated again. "It's like Buridan's ass."

"I'm sorry, Buridan's what?" Duke exclaimed.

"It's a Muggle thought experiment. A donkey who is starving has two identical bales of hay in front of him. One to the left and one to the right. And they are both the exact same distance away from the donkey. Since the hay bales are indistinguishable, the donkey dies of starvation. It's the peril of choice."

"Well that's bullocks and you're no ass," Duke retorted lifting his eyes to the sun which was starting to hang low in the sky. "Here's a thought: your spell only took away their memories of a life with you, not their life together, right? I'll bet that needle will find them together when night falls."

An uncontrollable smile grew across Hermione's face. "Brilliant! We only have to wait a bit longer for them to go home at night." They took advantage of their break time to make themselves comfortable on the ground. Hermione produced a picnic blanket from her bag and some drinks. She sat cross-legged facing the setting sun. Shadows slowly grew longer. The sky above them started to darken but the horizon lit up with fiery pinks and the last golden rays of the sun. It would almost be romantic if Duke wasn't sitting as far away from her as he could on the blanket. His proper posture was stiff as a board.

She was about to say something when he called her attention back to the compass in front of them. "Hermione, look. They must be home now." The needle was again pointing just one direction. Hermione popped up and spelled the blanked back into her bag so quickly that Duke was thrown off. He growled but followed her just as fast.

The landscape soon became hilly. They hiked up the largest bluff and looked over. A singular house stood in the middle of a beautiful expanse of land. A little further off, the ocean lapped against a coast of jagged cliffs. Hermione gasped. "That's where they are. I can feel it."

Duke grabbed her hand and took her as a side-along apparition to close the distance. Hermione landed more gracefully this time. The house was only a few strides in front of them now and Hermione closed the distance in seconds. The compass must have dropped from her hand because when she reached the door all she felt was sweat on her palms. The drum of her heart pounded in her ears. She was finally here. The last time she'd seen her parents was over a year ago. She had pictured this moment so many times during and since the war, but suddenly the real thing felt harder than her dreams. Duke came up beside her, compass in hand. He must have scooped it off the ground from wherever she dropped it. His presence restored Hermione's courage. She balled up her fist and rapped on the door three times.

"Coming!" A familiar feminine voice called from inside the house. The door opened and Hermione could feel her heart stop. The brunette woman in front of her smiled kindly. "Can I help you?"


	12. Chapter 12

**D**

The silence stretched on longer than comfortable. Draco watched the woman's expression change from curiosity to concern then distress. A middle-aged man came up behind her. His demeanor changed quickly too, sensing his wife's discomfort.

"Is there a problem?" The man asked in the same authoritative cadence that Hermione usually used.

Draco turned his attention to Hermione who was still a statue in her parents' shadows. She wasn't even blinking. Draco took a step forward.

"Good evening. We were hoping you could help us. My friend and I are... er, lost? Would you mind terribly if we came in?" Draco tried his best to sound polite and trustworthy, which admittedly were not some of his more practiced traits. He looked to Hermione for help.

Draco nudged her with his elbow and she seemed to come back to life. "Yes. Our car broke down a while back. We're here on holiday and we must have gotten turned around because we couldn't find our way back to any kind of town. Would it be too much trouble to ask to use your telephone?" Draco didn't know what a telephone was, but he was sure it would secure an invitation inside. If her parents were feeling generous, that is.

When they heard Hermione talk, the tension dissipated. The woman smiled and Draco could swear he saw an echo of Hermione's features in her heart-shaped face, her petite nose and her mouth with the bottom lip being slightly fuller than the top. In the man's face, Draco saw Hermione reflected again. It was in the intelligent sparkle in his eyes and in the way they creased at the corners. Draco wondered if they could see the resemblance even though they weren't looking for it, that the familiarity of her visage might be the reason they relaxed more easily for her.

"Come in, please!" The woman urged and opened the door further, angling out of the way to allow them to pass.

"Thank you," Hermione said gratefully and entered in front of Draco. As soon as he crossed over the doorstep, a delicious aroma engulfed him. His stomach let out a loud rumble. He licked his lips instinctively; he hadn't eaten a thing since breakfast. With the time zone hop, their schedule had gone all screwy, and even though breakfast hadn't been that long ago, it felt like ages to Draco. Hermione's mother noticed the sounds from his stomach and smiled again.

"Well, kids, our phone isn't working right now, but you're welcome to join us for dinner." She looked at her husband and he nodded happily along with her.

"Of course! And if you're looking for a place to stay the night, we've got a guest cottage out back. We usually rent it out to couples like you, but it's empty now so it could be all yours."

"Couples like...?" Draco started to protest, but he caught sight of Hermione's withering glare and he clammed up before he could finish.

She quickly masked her face and returned her parents a sweet smile. "That's too nice of you M..." she cut herself off. Draco sensed she had been just about to accidentally call them Mum and Dad. Hermione suddenly looked sad again.

"Mrs. Wilkins," Hermione's mother supplied, "but please, call me Monica. This is my husband Wendell." Wendell extended his hand to Draco who took it in a firm shake.

"Duke," Draco said, his façade was second nature to him now. He noticed Hermione was silent again so he introduced her. "This is Hermione." As he said it, it struck him that between the four of them, hers was the only true name given. One person pretending to be someone else, and two others tricked into being other people.

"Hermione! What a lovely, unusual name. Parents were fans of The Bard?" Wendell exclaimed with approval.

Monica ushered them into the dining room. "I hope you like steak and kidney pie!" she sang and Draco nodded heartily. "We have been feeling a little homesick lately so I made something that reminded us of home. And then you two Brits show up like magic! Ha!" Monica and Wendell laughed as if she had just made a hilarious joke. Draco smiled awkwardly. "Wendell, help me get two more places settings, please."

"Certainly," Wendell said and followed his wife out of the room.

"Like magic?" Draco said in a whisper. Hermione shrugged.

"Maybe they still have an inkling of their old life?"

Before Draco could answer, Monica and Wendell were back with extra dishes filled with steaming food. Draco licked his lips again and dug in. It wasn't until Draco had cleaned his whole dish that he noticed Hermione had barely touched hers. She was distracted, he could see now, watching her parents' every move. Draco wondered briefly, having never really met her parents before, if this was how they always acted, or if Hermione's spell had given them completely new personalities.

"This is delicious, Wendell, thank you very much," Hermione said.

Wendell looked shocked, then let out a howling laugh. "And thank you for such praise!" Draco looked at him curiously, surprised by his outburst. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh at her. It's just that most of our guests assume that Monica does the cooking." He was still cracking up around his words.

"Yes, Hermione is the first to guess correctly." Monica was chuckling, too. "If I had prepared the food, you definitely wouldn't use the word delicious lightly." _So_ , Draco thought, _Hermione knew he was the cook. At least some things are still the same._

Dinner passed quickly with casual conversation. The Wilkinses asked about current events in England (questions that Draco and Hermione dodged skillfully as they knew next to nothing about what was happening in the Muggle world) and Hermione asked politely about life in Australia for the two transplants. As they described their excitement for their travels and new home, Draco could see by the tightness of her mouth that it was painful for Hermione to hear. Her parents were happy without her.

When dinner and dessert were finished and they had run out of pleasantries, Wendell and Monica excused themselves to clear the table. Hermione grabbed her dish, but Monica swatted her hand away. "Nonsense, you're our guests! Just wait here a moment and we'll be back to show you to the cottage."

The older couple disappeared and Draco saw Hermione grab her wand out of her bag. She tiptoed to the entrance to the kitchen and watched her parent's backs. Draco couldn't hear her words, but could see her lips moving, muttering a string of spells. Her face grew angrier as each spell produced no results. She stomped her foot in frustration. Hermione returned to her seat, face set in a deep scowl, just before Wendell and Monica began to head back into the dining room.

"How many did you try?" Draco said under his breath.

" _Seven_ counter-charms!" she huffed, looking at her hidden wand in disbelief. "Even the most generic _Finite Incantatem_. I don't understand, those were the strongest spells I could find. They were sure to work."

Draco opened his mouth, but the Wilkinses were back, smiling broadly. "Follow us." Wendell chirped and gestured down the hall. Draco stood but let Hermione go first again. As they proceeded down the hall, he heard her sniffle when she looked at the wall. Draco looked too as he passed, observing dozens of photographs, non-moving like all ridiculous Muggle photographs were. Most of them were of one or both of the Wilkinses, but they caught his eye for being odd, even for still photos. In one, a younger Wendell and Monica were knelt down, posing together on either side of... an empty chair? Presently, he was aware that Hermione had stopped next to him and was gazing at the same photo. Her finger traced the edge of the frame.

"My eleventh birthday. The last one I spent with them."

Draco tried to imagine eleven year old Hermione sitting in the chair between her parents. It would have been before she knew anything about the magical world. He remembered back to when he first met her on the way in to Hogwarts seven years ago. She had big hair and even bigger teeth, but the memory didn't seem as hideous as he had always made her out to be in his mind.

"Come along, you two." The Wilkinses had seen that they were lagging behind. Draco and Hermione rushed down the rest of the hall and then continued out the back door into the garden. Behind the house was a small dark cottage. Once inside, Draco took in his surroundings again. It was set up like a studio apartment with all the rooms melding together as one. There was a small dining table next to a kitchenette, a pair of loveseats arranged into a sitting area, and beyond that... a single bed. Draco looked quickly to Hermione who must have thought the same thing at the same time. _Couples like us, huh?_

Their hosts showed them around the cozy room, pointing out light switches and linen closets. They stayed long enough to make sure Draco and Hermione were comfortable, then bid them a fond good night. As soon as the cottage door closed, Hermione sank onto the bed, looking deflated. Draco couldn't thing of anything helpful to say so he just remained quiet, busying himself with preparations for sleep. It was a wonder how often he found himself speechless around this girl. They took turns using the bathroom to get cleaned up. By the time Draco was finished, the cottage lights had been dimmed. A person-shaped lump of blankets told him that Hermione had taken the bed without discussion. He eyed the loveseats with disdain then sighed. Well, he certainly wasn't about to curl up in bed next to her. Draco got to a half-comfortable position on the couch and tried his best to lay still. For what seemed like hours, he listened to her breath hitch with silent sobs until she, and finally he, mercifully fell asleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**H**

When Hermione woke, the sun was high in the sky again. She grumbled. She was usually an early riser, but the time zone change caused her to miss most of the morning. She rubbed her swollen eyes and stared at the foreign sheets she had been sleeping on. Suddenly she felt guilty for taking the only bed all to herself. That is, she assumed she had taken it all to herself as she noticed she was the only one in the bed. A rustling of paper behind her caught her attention and she turned to face into the main room of the cottage. Duke was seated at the dining table with stacks of familiar-looking books huddled around him.

_Did he sleep in the bed with me and I didn't realize because he was up earlier?_ she thought self-consciously. No, one look at the sofa's crumpled cushions brought the memory of last night flooding back. He had let her have the only bed without complaint. Hermione ran a hand through her hair to try to tame her bedhead and approached the dining table. Duke was so deep in thought he hadn't noticed that she had risen.

"Good morning," she murmured as she reached his side. Duke jumped in surprise but recovered quickly and acknowledged her with a quick nod. Hermione waved to the towers of books. "What's all this?"

"Research." Duke closed the book he was reading and grabbed another, leafing through the pages with fervor.

"Research?" Hermione repeated. She peered over Duke's shoulder and recognized the text on memory charms. "Are these my books?"

"Obviously," Duke drawled, rolling his eyes. "You think I just found these spell books in your Muggle parents' cottage in the middle of nowhere?"

An uncomfortable thought struck her. "You went through my things?"

Duke looked up again, but his face was dismissive, not apologetic. "I went into your bag, yes, but I didn't go through your things. Just your books."

Hermione furrowed her brow in objection, but Duke spoke again before she could argue.

"Fine, I'm sorry. But you were still sleeping and I thought I could help with the memory problem." He held her gaze and Hermione decided against an altercation. His motives were well-meaning anyway, so she let the overstep slide. Hermione dropped into the chair next to him.

"Alright. Find anything then?"

Duke nodded again, consenting to move on. "Found? Not exactly. But if we take inspiration from success we've already had, I think I have an idea. Potions class was always my strong suit and we already proved that we could take an existing potion and change it by using some of my knowledge and some of your knowledge to come up with something even more powerful. I mean, we made a potion that helped us catch the uncatchable!"

Duke's speech was coming rapid- fire and his eyes were shining with excitement. Hermione felt herself get sucked up in his energy.

"You think we can alter a memory potion?" She asked. Her heart was picking up speed.

"Better! I think I can create one!" Duke's face was set in a conspiratorial grin. "Can I have a quill and some parchment? I want to work this out in writing." When Hermione didn't move immediately, he added with a snicker, "I would get it myself but I don't want to go through your things again."

Hermione flushed and stuck her tongue out but went to fetch the items. Duke was staring off into space when she returned.

"Last night the moon was in waxing gibbous phase. And it was pretty bright out so I'm guessing tonight is going to be the full moon," he muttered.

"Yes, I think so," Hermione agreed and waited for him to continue but he didn't say anything more. He took the parchment and quill and began furiously scratching some notes. He looked so pensive, Hermione didn't dare disturb him. She turned to her bag again, found the traveling snacks she had packed, and performed a few simple charms. Soon had a respectable breakfast on the table.

"I think the full moon will work in our favor, it will lend us productive energy. That will be a good instigation, so we need to start tonight. Now the bad news." Duke frowned at her.

"What?" Hermione demanded.

"The basics of what I've got here... it's not a quick brew. These kind of ingredients need time to meld."

"How much time?" Hermione felt her excitement slipping away. The rollercoaster of emotions she had been riding recently was starting to wreak havoc on her nerves.

"Best guess? I would say about two weeks," Duke theorized, "which puts us for completion in time with the new moon. It would work out well that way anyway, the new moon energy helps with new beginnings."

Hermione clicked her tongue. "Longer than I would have hoped, but it's not terrible. It's better than nothing. Wait, what's the date today?"

"September fifth," Duke replied after thinking for a moment.

"So two weeks... that's actually quite perfect!" she gushed. Duke raised an eyebrow at her sudden about face. "The potion will be ready two weeks from today? That's the nineteenth. That's my birthday."  
...

Flush with renewed enthusiasm, Hermione had greeted her parents and asked if she and Duke could continue to stay in the cottage for another two weeks. Monica and Wendell had agreed amiably and Hermione promised that she and Duke were going out for the day to exchange her currency. The older couple directed the younger how to get to the nearest town and offered them a lift which Hermione gently declined. Unfortunately the mention of a car reminded her dad of her broken down car ruse from the previous night.

"What about your car?" he asked, "Should I go out and try to get it started?"

"Oh, no, no, thanks," Hermione stammered, trying to come up with an excuse. "Erm, it's a rental and it has one of those new things called GPS. When we get to town I'll contact the rental company to take care of it." Wendell smiled, accepting her lie.

An hour or so later, Hermione and Duke were in the nearby Muggle town. She exchanged some money (she still carried Muggle money with her, but she needed to trade for Australian dollars) and then set out to find the local wizarding community. It only took a few minutes of wandering before they noticed a small shack-type building that all the Muggles seemed to look right through. The pair entered and found themselves in what looked like a tiny, sparsely decorated office space, no one there but them two. Across the room was another door, painted a ridiculously bright purple. Duke put out his arm as if to say "after you," and together they stepped through the second door.

When they emerged, they were in a city square lined with shops. A few older witches were ambling ahead. The sign at the entrance announced that they had just been transported to Fairdinkum Square, somewhere in the Muggle city of Perth.

Duke's head looked like it was on a swivel as he tried to get the lay of the land. "I'm hoping to find a book store first," he said, squinting into the distance, "just to confirm some things before we go to an apothecary for the ingredients. You only had one book on potions in your bag, but it didn't have anything on potion theory for me to measure my ideas against."

Hermione followed him through the square until they came to a book shop. She held herself back from browsing like she normally would, but it was doubly hard because she was in a new country and her curiosity over Australian magical culture was piqued. Duke headed to the potions section and quickly retrieved the particular tome he wanted to consult. He chattered to himself under his breath for a few minutes then made an extra note on his parchment before he eventually purchased the book.

Not long after, they were meandering down the aisle at the apothecary. Duke read off his list. "Jobberknoll feathers, at least two; rosemary oil, yes that small vial will do, we should only need a few drops; blessed thistle; blue calcite powder; Mnemosyne River water, that's bound to be behind the counter, it's hard to come by; fresh fenugreek leaves; and fresh sage. On second thought, the fenugreek and the sage should wait until we're ready to add them, so we can make sure they're fresh when they go in." While he spoke, Hermione grabbed each item and they headed to the counter. Duke had been right, the river water was kept in a locked cabinet behind the counter. He paid the smiling merchant for the ingredients despite Hermione's objection, as he said the potion was his experiment. When they were finished, they clasped hands and apparated together back to the cottage, eager to get to work.


	14. Chapter 14

**D**

Draco and Hermione started their potion on the night of the full moon. Hermione's cauldron was set up in the sitting area of their little cottage, on top of another one of her beautiful conjured flames. Draco spent most of his days checking and rechecking his magical theory books against his own notes, in constant worry that he had missed something important or dangerous. The thrill of potentially inventing a new potion was dampened greatly by the very real possibility that he could cock it all up. What would happen if his brew didn't work? In the best case scenario, Hermione would have spent two weeks in vain, no closer to having her parents back for real. In the worst case scenario... well, then they may be the first muggles to take a long term stay at St. Mungo's...

When he wasn't obsessing over his books or the cauldron, Hermione would drag him out into the fresh air to bask in the crashing surf. Sometimes they would talk, sometimes not. Usually a proponent of good old fashioned peace and quiet, Draco found himself enjoying their moments of conversation more and more. Once, only once, he stumped her during one of their "did you know" contests (involving another potion inventor, Gregory the Smarmy) and Draco had gloated for the rest of the day. She had thrown him an elbow to the ribs but laughed when she finally admitted he was right (after looking it up in a text to confirm, of course).

Most days, they would share a meal with Hermione's parents. Even though they were muggles, they were refined and intelligent and Draco felt comfortable in their company as well. Every once in a while when he spoke with them, he imagined he was talking to Mr. and Mrs. Granger instead of Wendell and Monica, but as far as he could tell by Hermione's reactions, they were largely the same. Draco was only put off once when, after an extra glass of wine, Monica had stared a bit too long at his teeth and commented on someone's "work". Hermione explained later, gleefully, that her parents had been dentists, and if Monica was fascinated by his teeth she might be remembering more of her old life than they thought.

The new moon was looming over him, though. The day the potion was set to be finished was Hermione's birthday, as if he needed more pressure. His mounting anxiety over completing the potion correctly kept him scrambling. With only a few days left, Draco was rushing around a second flame with a teapot, explaining to Hermione in an exasperated tone for the third time what he was doing.

"I have to make the blessed thistle into a tea first and then add it or it won't have the same potency. No, I'm _not_ going to use the stove, I don't know _how_ , that's muggle stuff. Just let me..." He thrust his arm out and hung the teapot over the new fire, but accidentally knocked over the open jar of blue calcite powder in the process. Hermione dove to catch it and stuck her arm into the blaze in her haste. She recoiled immediately, yelping in pain, and clamped her free hand against her left forearm. A puff of blue powder mushroomed in the air around her.

Draco jumped to her side and grabbed her arm roughly, wrenching back her singed shirt sleeve to examine the burn. What he saw stopped him dead. Under the fresh red heat mark was her scar- a scrawled slur that he had used so many times in his life, both derisively and casually. The letters were white and raised. He could read it with his fingers with his eyes closed if he tried. Hermione tried to pull her arm away but he tightened his grip to hold her steady. Draco's shock was genuine. Yes, he had known the scar was there, but he had long ago stopped using that word at all, let alone thinking of her that way anymore. Besides, after all the time they had spent together recently, he could hardly believe she could have been anyone's victim; she always had such enviable strength. So had he just, what, forgotten about her scar? Wishful thinking, he supposed. The harsh reminder had slapped him across the face.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in his grasp. "It's not that bad, really. I'm fine," she mumbled. Draco forced himself to look her in the eye but his eyes were stinging with a threatening tear, causing her image to swim in front of him. Finally, her arm relaxed into him, like she had resigned herself to finally let it out.

"I was caught," she explained, her voice almost too low to hear, "during the war by a Death Eater. She wanted information and..."

Draco blocked out the rest. He didn't need to hear her words to know what happened that day. His aunt had tortured and degraded her within earshot of him. It had taken him weeks to get the image and her cries out of his head, and he would give anything to not have to relive it again. He wished he could stop her, tell her she didn't have to relive it either, but he couldn't. If she wanted to tell him she deserved to. He owed her that at least, and much more. So he waited, and when she was finished, he let his eyes close to push the terrible reality away. Tenderly, he brought her arm up to his cheek, resting his face against the scar.

"I'm sorry," he breathed. She would think he meant sorry for the burn, maybe. Or perhaps she would think he meant it in the way people give their condolences, but he meant so much more than he could put into words. He was sorry that he had ever used that word for her. He was sorry that anyone would have done this to her, let alone his own flesh and blood. Draco felt her pulse against his cheek. Slowly he turned his face toward her arm so his lips brushed ever so lightly against her skin. She shivered and his eyes shot open, realizing what he had done. Draco opened his hand and released her arm which fell heavily to her hip.  
He was getting too close, he could see it now. At first it had been slow, but this... the pull to protect her, to heal her... was too much. It would lead nowhere, without a doubt, how could it not? He couldn't pull off this masquerade for the rest of his life and she wouldn't deign to touch him with a ten foot pole if she found out who he truly was. Even if she could get past it, by some miracle, there was no place where Draco Malfoy would be an acceptable companion for Hermione Granger in the eyes of the wizarding world at large.

He had to push her away, that's all there was to it. He knew just the cruel way to do it. "There's something I need to show you," he said, but his voice was quaking. Before he could change his mind, he lifted his own shirt sleeve. He couldn't stand to look at her, but when she gasped his eyes found hers. He was desperate to see her repulsion so he could drown whatever delicate feelings had inadvertently bubbled within him.  
The girl was quiet for longer than expected. Pain flashed on her features. "Why..." she croaked out, unable to speak yet. Then her pain turned into betrayal. She found her speech again and roared. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

A small voice answered, so small that at first Draco didn't realize he was the one that spoke. "I liked the way you looked at me when you didn't know."

Hermione's expression changed again, this time to confusion, then slowly morphed into something Draco didn't quite recognize. Softly she asked, "Why did you tell me now?"

Draco blinked rapidly. Against his will, the waiting tear finally fell. Was it self-preservation? Self-loathing? A little of both, probably, because how could anyone love someone who hated himself so deeply?

"Because I didn't deserve that look."

Her arm extended toward him and he flinched. Her fingertips were gentle and shy against the marred skin on his forearm, his own scar from the war. She traced the ruined Dark Mark and then copied his movements   
from minutes ago, bringing his arm to her cheek. "You've known who I was since we first met. Which means you knew my background and what I stood for." She paused, searching him, pleading with him for something but he wasn't sure what. "I think if you believed in this mark, you wouldn't be here now, helping me. You would never have come."

Draco felt more exposed to her now than when the court had used the sorting hat on him. She read the emotions he had hidden from everyone, including himself, for longer than he could remember. "So maybe there was a time when you didn't deserve it, past tense just like you said. But does that mean you don't deserve it now?" She turned in to his arm to let her lips brush against his skin, just as he had done to her. He cringed and pulled his arm back violently.

"Don't!" he warned. She looked hurt and he instantly regretted his tone. Without thinking, his hand reached up to cup her face and his thumb grazed her lips. Her bottom lip was indented where she had been biting it.

"You are too... pure... to touch such darkness." He moved his fingers to her hair and let them tangle in one dangling curl that had escaped from her ponytail. There was too much irony in a pureblood ex Death Eater calling a muggleborn pure, but that's what she was. Pure good.

Her hand was on top of his now. Recognition finally caught up to him, naming the expression that was all over her face: forgiveness. Was he worthy of that? Was he worthy of hers in particular? He felt her start to move closer, licking her lips and focusing her gaze onto his mouth. Draco froze. He didn't have time to decide if he was going to let that happen, as a sudden shrill noise sent them leaping apart.  
The tea kettle.

Hermione looked at the kettle, then back to Draco. He could ignore the whistling and reach for her again. He could borrow some of her Gryffindor courage and kiss her square on her expectant red lips, use her tenderness and fuel his dead end feelings for a little bit longer. But he wasn't brave like her. He hesitated too long and the moment slipped away. He spun around, allowing his back to form a physical barrier between them. Wordlessly he picked up the teapot and checked the blessed thistle tea, trying to ignore his racing heart and her frenzied pant behind him. Perfect for the potion, he concluded. He poured the tea directly in the cauldron, careful not to raise his head again.

"Here, stir four times anti-clockwise, then let it sit again," he said gruffly around the lump in his throat. "I have to..." but he didn't finish his sentence. He handed Hermione the oversized spoon they had been using to stir and stalked out of the cottage. Once outside he felt like he could breathe again so he took huge calming gulps until he could see clearly again. Seeing her scar had unnerved him, caused him to let his emotions take over. He needed to control himself.

He could leave, he considered, but he'd still have to go back in for his belongings. Anyway, the potion wasn't exactly finished, and even with his jotted notes, he predicted Hermione would still need his help to get it right.

Draco looked around in the hopes that someone would come out of nowhere and tell him what to do. A face caught his attention through the main house's window. It was Wendell, smiling cheerily. A deep sigh escaped him and Draco pulled his shirt sleeve down to cover his scar. He would have to suck it up and stay, at least for a couple more days. Then he could call his debts paid and he wouldn't owe her anything.


	15. Chapter 15

H

It had been two days since they had shown their scars. Hermione knew Duke's scar meant she should hate him, but she couldn't bring herself to see him that way. He had definitely called her Granger when they met at the Leaky Cauldron, meaning it wasn't like any misleading idea of her heritage had given him improper expectations. Even if he hadn't started out knowing her blood status, he could have left any number of times in between, and he surely didn't have to spend any time with her muggle parents.

Hermione rolled a strand of hair around her fingers. It had also been two days since their _almost_ kiss. Two days of awkward silences and furtive glances. Duke had barely spoken to her since that moment. His only words were about the potion's progress, and she wasn't even sure he was talking to her because he was usually staring into the cauldron when he spoke.

The new knowledge did fill in some holes for her. It finally made sense to her why he got so closed off when she had asked him about his past or his full name. The mark explained his hot and cold attitudes with her.

Well, it explained his moods up until now. Now he was pushing her away and his new motives baffled her even more. Was it embarrassment? There had been no one else around to be embarrassed in front of so that didn't really fit. Was it a fear of rejection? Hermione thought she had made it quite clear what she wanted. Although, if she remembered her school days correctly, she had thought she made things clear to Ron, too, and it had taken him years to figure it out. Maybe all men were immune to her feminine subtlety. She silently decided that today she would be less than subtle. Tomorrow was her birthday, the day their potion was supposed to be complete, and likely the end of their companionship if she didn't do something about it.

Just as she gathered up her nerve, Duke smiled at the cauldron. It was the first smile she had seen from him in days. He looked up from his spot on the sofa to where she was at the dining table and, upon noticing that she was looking back, replaced his smile with a more reserved demeanor.

"Good news?" Hermione inquired and sauntered over with a pout that she hoped looked confident and flirtatious. Her inner lioness purred, urging her forward.

"It looks promising," he acknowledged, hedging his excitement. Duke seemed to sense her energy and slid down the couch so he was further away again. "Have you thought about how you're going to give them the potion?" he asked, directing his words towards the cauldron again so he didn't have to look at her.

Even with him avoiding her gaze, Hermione was still happy to have him talking. She realized in the past two days how much she missed his conversation. "Yes, I invited them here for dinner tomorrow night. I told them we wanted to thank them for being so hospitable, but they wouldn't hear of it when they found out it will be my birthday. So slight change of plans since they insisted on hosting, but I managed to get them to allow me to bring the wine as our thank you." Hermione raised her eyebrows conspiratorially.

"That will do perfectly," Duke consented.

"I guess I'll go pick up some wine now. What kind do you prefer?" Her cheeks burned as she tried to pass the question off casually.

Duke looked confused. "I hardly think it matters what I would like. Nor what your parents might like, really. We'll just be filling an empty bottle." Duke waved her away.

Hermione tried again. "True, but I have to buy a full bottle, you see, and it seems such a waste to simply pour it out, doesn't it? I thought we might... drink it. Together."

Duke blanched and for a moment Hermione thought he would argue. Instead he responded matter-of-factly, "I suppose I liked that local one from last week. The red."

"The shiraz?" she nodded. "Yes, I liked that one as well. I'll go pick it up then." Duke shrugged noncommittally.

Hermione apparated away and returned long after dark with a bottle of Duke's requested wine. The sight of the dining area surprised and delighted her. Duke had set the table complete with two empty wine glasses. A delicious aroma wafted through the air and she let out a hum of appreciation.

"You made dinner?" she asked Duke who was already seated at the table.

"It didn't seem fair for you or your parents to keep cooking for me." He wasn't meeting her gaze again. So he was still sending hot and cold signals, but she took dinner as a sign that he wasn't a lost cause just yet. She sat down in the chair opposite him and poured them both a full glass of wine. A quiet settled around them as they ate, broken only by the occasional clinking of silverware. Hermione took a sip of her drink, allowing the liquid to fill her with the courage that she was lacking. She cleared her throat.

"Thank you, Duke."

His eyes met hers for a brief moment then averted back to his plate. "It's not much, just a few food charms I picked up..."

Hermione took another sip from her glass then stood up. She glided along the edge of the table and dropped into the chair next to Duke. His jaw tensed but he was still stubbornly looking away from her.

"Well, thank you for dinner, too. But I didn't mean that." Hermione smiled. "I was thanking you for helping me get here, and for everything you're doing to help me get my parents back. It means more to me than I can say."

Duke swallowed hard. "I..." he started, but seemed unsure how to finish. He started again. "Maybe you should hold off on any thanks until after we know if the potion works or not."

"No," Hermione shook her head allowing her curls to swish gracefully around her neck. "Obviously I hope it works, but I will still be grateful for your help if it doesn't."

Duke shoved his chair back harshly and stalked over to the sofa. His face was tormented. Hermione could see his longing hidden beneath his restraint. Why was he so determined to fight it? Hermione left her chair and followed him.

"Is that so hard to believe?" she demanded.

"Yes," he bit back, "if you knew who I was..."

Hermione interrupted. "I do know who you were. You showed me your mark and I'm still here. Do you want to know why?" She didn't wait for a response. "Because it doesn't matter to me who you were, it only matters who you are."

Duke groaned. "You don't get it. You still don't know who I _am_ , and trust me it's not much better."

Hermione pushed further. "I do know who you are." Duke groaned again in frustration and threw himself onto the sofa. She sat down beside him. "You are intelligent. You are noble. You are helpful. Those traits are the things that make you who you truly are, not any label. Our scars don't define us, they just tell us where we've been. And you're still here, too."

Duke's face clouded, considering her words. Hermione placed one of her hands over his, partially to steady herself, partially to keep him from pushing away again. She leaned in just a little and waited to test his reaction. His breathing was shallow but he didn't move. Ever so slowly she closed the rest of the distance. She watched his eyelids fall shut in anticipation and she let hers do the same. Their lips met. His were soft and full of an intense heat. She pressed herself closer to him and he began to respond timidly. His fists were still on his lap and she picked them up, placing one of his hands on either side of her waist. That action unlocked something inside him and his hands turned to claws, squeezing her possessively. In one strong move he lifted her and sat her on top of him. All she could hear was the blood rushing in her ears and their shared gasps of air. His tongue explored her mouth in rhythm with her pulse. He tasted like the sweetness from the wine, but the static between them kept away the disorienting haze. Her fingers pulled at the shorter hair on the nape of his neck and she felt the vibration of his throaty growl when she grazed her nails down his shoulders. His need felt hungry and desperate. She couldn't remember a kiss that had ever made her feel this desired.

Duke broke the connection first. He pulled away and nuzzled his face into her neck. For a moment he just sat there with his chest heaving. Hermione took the time to allow the room to stop spinning.

"I'm sorry," Duke whispered.

Hermione looked down. "Whatever might be on the list of things you should be sorry for, that was not one of them." She stroked his cheek in reassurance. Duke caught her hand and placed a small kiss against her knuckles, then leaned in and kissed her neck, then finally a put brief peck to her lips. Hermione blushed and wondered, after they had just shared such a passionate kiss, why on earth this tiny show of affection would fluster her.

Duke was flushed as well and he was looking away again. But this time he turned back to her with a sweet grin. "What?" she asked.

"It's after midnight." His silver eyes flashed playfully and he leaned in, peppering little kisses up her jawline until he reached her ear. When he spoke, his breath tickled and made her shiver. "Happy birthday, Hermione."

...

That night they shared the bed. Duke had seemed bashful about it, but Hermione insisted, telling him it wasn't right for her to get the bed when he'd had to make do on the sofa during their whole stay. They were lying side by side facing each other, Hermione mindlessly tracing innocent circles on Duke's chest.

"In the morning I can go out to get the fresh fenugreek and sage and when I come back we can finish the potion. Those are the last ingredients left to mix in, then it will be the moment of truth." Duke murmured into her hair.

"Then hopefully it's goodbye Monica and Wendell and hello Mum and Dad!" Hermione let out a breathy laugh. She rolled over and molded her back to Duke's body. Duke snuggled in, casting his arm over her and hugging her close. Sleep was creeping in on her. Hermione sighed with contentment. "Happy birthday to me..."


	16. Chapter 16

**D**

Draco awoke out of the most peaceful sleep he could remember. No nightmares, no tossing and turning, just blissful, relaxing, comfortable sleep. With his eyes still closed, he allowed himself to remember the night before. He could still feel Hermione's kisses and the warmth of her body... wait... He couldn't feel her body against him. Panic hit him. Had last night just been a cruel dream? He thrashed wildly for a second and heard a soft moan of protest from behind him. He rolled over and found her. She was still half asleep beside him but they had drifted to the opposite sides of the bed.

Definitely not a dream. He remembered everything perfectly, from falling asleep with his arms around her to the snogging session that had preceded it. He heard her words again, echoing in his mind- the words that had caused him to let his guard down in the first place. His insides felt strangely mushy. Draco held himself back with apprehension and watched her chest rise and fall. If he wanted, he could sneak away now. He could pack all his things, leave her the notes to finish the potion and pretend like none of this ever happened. He weighed his options: leave and keep the shred of dignity he had left, or stay and... well, he wasn't sure what exactly, but at least he'd still be with her. The longer he watched her, the quicker his nerves dissolved. She looked perfectly angelic with the soft morning light glowing around her. He couldn't control himself; he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

Hermione woke up with a look of surprise. Draco worried for a moment that she had forgotten what happened. She'd had a little more wine than he had, after all. But his fears were soothed when she put her hands in front of her mouth and giggled self-consciously.

"Morning breath!" she howled, but he could see her smile around her fingers.

He pushed her hands away, smiling dangerously at her. "You think I care about that, you silly witch?" Draco kissed her again and this time she let him. He took his time, enjoying the feeling of butterflies stirring in his stomach. She sighed sweetly against his mouth.

"Last night was..." she began. Draco relished the pink that appeared on her cheeks.

"Amazing?" he offered and let his legs entangle with hers. Something deep inside him squeaked a warning again, but Draco ignored it. There was no point in hiding from his feelings anymore. He liked Hermione Granger and in the most inexplicable and wonderful turn of events she cared for him, too. Or at least this version of him. He wondered if this was what they could have been for all these years if he hadn't been raised with prejudice. Or if he had been strong enough to rebel against it.

Hermione laughed with relief. "I'm glad you think so. I was afraid that I might have been too pushy."

Draco lifted an eyebrow and laughed with her. "You're _always_ pushy. But I wouldn't have you any other way." She slapped him gently on his arm. He snickered and stretched as he got out of bed. He washed and dressed quickly the muggle way, completely forgetting his wand that had been abandoned in the kitchen the night before. "Stay here. I'll be back with the last ingredients soon."

After one last lingering kiss, Draco apparated away to Fairdinkum Square. He felt light-headed and light-hearted and just overall lightness that was entirely foreign to him. The only feeling close was the rush he felt when zooming through the air on his broomstick, but this was even better. This was hope for a future that finally felt within his grasp. Last night she had said she didn't care who he was and with each kiss he believed her more. She didn't care that he had been marked by the Dark Lord and she wouldn't care when she learned his true identity. Now he just had to find a way to tell her that wouldn't scare her.

The square was only just waking up for the day. Shopkeepers opened their doors and Draco made his way to the store he needed. It was filled of plants of all kinds and reminded him vaguely of the greenhouses back at Hogwarts. He purchased his fenugreek and sage, and since he was in a good mood, he chatted with the shopkeeper.

"These are very powerful herbs together. Depending on what you're using them for, I would tell you to think about letting them blend first," the older wizard shared. Draco nodded and thanked the man for his help. He made a mental note to crush the leaves together before adding them to the potion. Before he left, he found an elegant bouquet of purple flowers and got them as well.

Draco returned to the cottage floating on air, but was immediately struck with the feeling that something was off. In stark contrast to the lightness he felt before, the atmosphere now felt heavy. Hermione was sitting at the table with her back turned, stiff and harsh. He swore she had heard him pop in but called out just in case.

"Hermione?" He navigated the room, leaving the potion ingredients by the cauldron, and stopped when he was standing in front of her. Her face was tight and serious and she was hunched down inspecting something in her hands. Draco followed her eyes down. It was his wand. Had living near muggles rubbed off on him so much that he had actually failed to notice he was without his wand?

"Merlin, I can't imagine how I forgot my wand. Thanks," Draco put his free hand out for her to pass it back to him but she still didn't move. She didn't even acknowledge his outstretched hand.

Instead she said, "I've learned a good bit about wand lore in the past year." Slowly she ran her hand down the length of his wand. The motion was far from sensual, it was disturbingly clinical. "Is it hawthorn wood?"

"Yes," Draco hesitated and his voice cracked when he responded.

"Do you know what this wand tells me about you?" She continued in an ominous tone.

Draco let out his breath. Certainly she would have hexed him by now if she knew it was him, from finding out this way, right? Perhaps he got lucky and she didn't recognize his wand. "What does it mean?"

"You've got two faces."

Draco froze. He decided it was best to play dumb. "Sorry?"

"Wizards chosen by hawthorn wood wands are often of conflicting natures. These wands... can be excellent at curses, but are keenly adept with healing spells. It shows a divided heart. Good and evil. Light and dark." She over pronounced each syllable, still not looking up into his eyes.

A question he hadn't realized he'd been longing to ask her forced its way out before he could stop himself. "And which do _you_ think of me?"

She answered his question with another of her own. "What's the core?"

He wanted to brush off her question like she did to his, but after a moment he answered her simply. "Unicorn."

"There is such goodness in unicorn hair. At your truest self you are good. Or, you want to be, at least. Sometimes it can be our desires as much as our actions that make us who we are." Then she added as she raised her face to meet him, "Professor Dumbledore taught me that." She stared directly into Draco's eyes challengingly and held his gaze for a minute in total silence. Draco didn't respond. He couldn't figure out what was going on yet. Her words sounded positive, but her inflection was almost scary.

"I know this wand." She said when she broke the silence again. "Before I met _Duke_ , I already knew this wand." Draco noticed she put emphasis on the name 'Duke' instead of saying 'you'.

Bugger. She knew. Of course she would remember it from when Potter had it during the war. Draco let out a deep sigh and sat down in the chair opposite her.

"How long have you known?"

"A while maybe. Or maybe just now." she said ambiguously. She looked like she was still trying to convince her own disbelief. Draco fidgeted uncomfortably. He never used to fidget. How had he changed so much in the past few weeks?

"Well, no need to keep this up then." He took his wand back and performed the counter spell, grunting in pain as he transformed back into himself. The dark color melted out of his hair, his nose shrank, and his cheeks and jaw fell back to his old thin angles. Hermione watched the transformation and her eyes grew large. Even though she had suspected, she still seemed stunned when his true face was revealed.  
"You transfigured yourself? That must have been a difficult spell." It almost sounded like admiration. She stared at him for a long time in silence, inspecting his features like she was trying to find Duke still in there. He kept his expression neutral, not daring to imagine what she was thinking. "Your eyes," she said at long last, "they were always your eyes."

He nodded.

"Why?" she asked. He gathered she meant more than just his eyes.

"Why not?" he tried but she glared in return. "I needed to be able to be myself. Or, not be myself, as it were."

"But what were you playing at? With me?"

"I wasn't," he said plainly, but couldn't bring himself to say more. He was starting to get the sinking feeling that the conversation was going south. His grip tightened on the stems of the forgotten bouquet in his hand.

She regarded him for some time with an unreadable face. "I'd like to take the potion to my parents alone."

Draco balked. "You can't be serious! It's my potion! I did that for you!" Their talk had put him on edge, but her rejection put him over it. His temper seethed.

"They're my parents," she said back, her voice low and threatening. "If it works, then thank you, but that potion… and this…" she motioned back and forth between them, "whatever this is… doesn't undo everything else." Her eyes seemed fiery and watery at the same time.

Draco scoffed. "What was all that bollocks about what my wand means, then? Good at the core? That suddenly means nothing?" Draco's insides were all coiled up in a knot. He jumped up from his seat and pointed an accusing finger. "You forgave Duke!" he shouted. "What about that? Everything you said a few days ago? And everything you did last night?" Hermione looked down. Her features slowly took on less caution and more anger.

Draco's momentum continued. "If you think I'm a liar for being myself with a different face, take a good hard look at yourself. Pretending to be all high and mighty and preaching forgiveness when you're nothing but a hypocrite!"

Finally he got a reaction. "Duke wasn't there when I got this!" As she shouted back she rolled up her shirt sleeve to reveal her scar. " _You_ were there. _You_ did nothing. And _you_ were there for years saying this same word to me nearly every day, making sure I damn well knew exactly what _you_ thought of me!" Every time she said 'you' it felt like a stab to his heart.

Draco fought back in a last ditch effort. "But Duke and Draco are the same thing. You said the label didn't matter. The person under it is the same." He wanted to persuade her but he couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice. He would not beg. Not even for this. Or maybe especially not for this.

She looked torn but then turned away and shook her head without saying anything else.

Draco's stomach fell. He had lost her favor and now she wouldn't even argue with him anymore. Why did he suddenly feel empty? His face hardened and even though his physical transformation had taken places a few minutes prior, he felt his heart change as he truly became Draco Malfoy again.

"Fine, go see your muggle parents all by yourself. What do I care?" He decided to say what he thought would hurt her the most. "I was only bored. And you provided me a nice opportunity to beat you."  
She whipped back around and narrowed her eyes. "You never beat me."

"Oh didn't I? Your lips say differently." he winked suggestively and blew her a kiss. He threw the crumpled blooms to the ground at her feet. Something in her face snapped. She grabbed her wand and shot a hex at him with such rage he had to lunge out of the way, unable to block it in time.

"Get out!" she screeched, shaking with anger.

"I'd love to!" he bellowed and stalked toward the door. He reached the threshold and his summoned bags met him there, but he stopped short. Draco turned his head back so that she could see him in profile, not   
quite enough that he had to look her in the eye. She was still fuming in his peripheral vision. "Mix the fenugreek and the sage together before you add them to the potion." he said, his words razor sharp from anger. He heard her suck in a deep breath, getting ready to fight back. He cut her off.

"Just trust me." Without another word, he left.


	17. Chapter 17

**H**

Hermione could still hear the crack reverberating through the cottage from where Duke had disapparated.

No, not Duke. Malfoy. Draco _sodding_ Malfoy.

Her stomach seemed to drop as a realization hit her. She had kissed Malfoy. And he had kissed her back. Multiple times. And they had _cuddled_. Thank Godric it wasn't anything more than that. She shuddered at the thought.

His story had never quite added up in her mind. He had avoided the boat trip, something she would assume any Durmstrang student would have taken in comfort. He had known of the point system for the Hogwarts house cup. He had made an allusion... no, he had told her outright about his family's affinity for stars, but that it wasn't because of Divination. And wasn't it common knowledge that the Black side of his family were all named after stars or constellations? Draco had even been the star that he had named specifically. There had been countless other instances that had struck her as out of place, too. It was all there right from her deja vu feeling at the very beginning when she swore she knew him. It was almost as if she hadn't wanted to see it.

At least the puzzle was completed now. She'd thought she had it all figured out after she'd seen his dark mark, but like a real puzzle the last piece had been missing. Now it had all fallen together: his reluctance to talk to her when they first met at the Leaky Cauldron; his annoyance at finding them on the same train and heading to the same destination; his tendency to pull away severely if they accidentally touched. These were all things she could easily associate with the Malfoy she knew from school.

So he had faked everything else then. But to what end? To humiliate her?

Certainly, she decided, he must have faked it all. He must have hidden some kind of dark intentions. If she thought of it that way, his actions still seemed like Malfoy. Haughty and taunting and manipulative. Each kind word from her must have been stored for future blackmail.

Hermione slowly let their interactions play back through her memory, except this time he had his own familiar face. Duke's smile was replaced by Malfoy's trademark smirk. As she got closer to the more recent memories, her imagination faltered. She couldn't seem to picture Draco Malfoy eating a pleasant meal with her muggle parents, or Draco Malfoy moved to tears at the sight of her war scar, or, hardest yet, Draco Malfoy's lustful hands gripping her body during their kiss or the loving glaze in his eyes afterwards.

Well, she didn't have to reimagine his eyes. Those had been the same, a fact that snaked at the edge of her thoughts and threw even more confusion and doubt on her memories and what they meant.

She shook her head to get herself back on track. What of their conversations? Hadn't he still teased her as Duke? Somehow it sounded more antagonistic in her memory when she reframed it to come from Malfoy's mouth. And she would have responded with equal cruelty if she had known. With a heavy sigh she knew that this meant he was right when he argued that she was a hypocrite. She had told him that she didn't care who he was, and here she was admitting that she would have treated him differently depending on his identity.

But that was before she _knew_ who he was, and that counted for something, didn't it? Maybe she could afford not to care when she thought he was some random Death Eater that she had never encountered, when she could romanticize his motives as misdirected and tragic, when she didn't know the details of the things he helped do. But she and Malfoy had history. So much hateful, hideous history.

And if he _hadn't_ been toying with her, could he truly expect her to let go of that history at the drop of a hat? If she believed he was sincere, and that in itself was a big if, she would need substantially more time than what he had given her. Maybe to him they had been approaching this point for weeks, but to her, it was only for sure for about an hour.

Suddenly, Hermione noticed she was holding the pretty purple flowers that had been left in the wreckage of their fight. She didn't remember picking them up, but she was idling plucking them in a "he loves me, he loves me not," fashion and the petals were floating gracefully to her feet.

Draco had brought these for her. "Draco," she said aloud, testing the feel of his name on her tongue. She wondered briefly if she should go after him. It was too late to try, of course, since he disapparated she had no way to know where he went to follow him. Would she want to if she could? She could demand some answers and search his features again for the softness that she had found in Duke...

She hadn't meant to fight with him, really. She had suggested that she give her parents the potion on her own so she could remove herself and have time to mull it all over. But he had reacted to that suggestion with classic Malfoy entitlement and anger, and she'd had a similar knee-jerk reaction in return. Muscle memory from all those years of being at each other's throats.

Hermione's hand found her throat instantly. She could still feel the ghost of his kisses on her neck, but she chastised herself for the thought. _That_ is definitely not what she meant by 'at each other's throats'.

The potion!

The brunette rushed over to the cauldron and peered in at the simmering mixture. She hadn't even thought what these revelations could mean for her parents' memories! She had been reading a lot of the potion theories over his shoulder and some of the ingredients sounded dangerous if they weren't used or mixed properly. Could she trust that his intentions were good in creating the potion? He had helped her so much already to get to this point, she thought, and he had even altered that love potion into a magnetism potion. By the way he boasted, she could tell his potion making was a source of pride for him, so it seems unlikely that he would create one that wouldn't work or have an ill-effect.

As she concluded that the potion would still be safe to try, she noticed the small packages of herbs on the coffee table. His last words suddenly came back to her and she narrowed her eyes. He had told her to mix the herbs together before adding them to the cauldron. She had reasoned that she could trust the brew from 'Duke's' instructions, but could she trust this? This instruction had come after she found out who he was, so he would have no reason to keep up a nice façade any more. Even worse, the instruction had come after their fight. Had he said it out of spite to ruin the potion and get back at her?

She was thinking too much, she needed a break. She realized that she had never written to Harry as she promised and she took out her parchment and a quill. Maybe she could sort this all out in writing to her best friend.

_Dear Harry,_

She began but had no idea what to say. How would she tell him about this mess? She started scribbling a lot of half sentences and scratching them out. When she was on her fifth new piece of parchment she finally had a note she could send.

...

_Harry,_  
_Sorry for not writing earlier._  
_I made it to Australia. Had a hard time of it, but finally found my mum and dad._  
_Found something else pretty exciting along the way. I'll tell you all about it when I see you._  
_Parents are still obliviated, but there is a plan. If all goes well, the three of us will be home soon._  
_Love, Hermione_

...

Short and sweet. She brought the letter to the post master at Fairdinkum Square and mailed it off. With any luck, she hoped, she and her family might be home before her letter is even delivered and she could tell him everything right away. On second thought, maybe not everything. Did she really want Harry to know about Malfoy? And, as her surrogate brotherly figure, would he really want to know all those details? Probably not. Chances were that if Harry found out what happened, Hermione would never be able to talk to Malfoy again. Was that what she wanted? Disturbingly she didn't have an answer for that, and she was getting tired of thinking in mostly questions.

Back at the cottage, she stared at the potion ingredients again.

_Just trust me_ , he had said.

Without allowing herself any more time to second guess it, she did. She mixed the fenugreek and the sage in a separate bowl until they were in a ball of juicy pulp. Then she dropped the mixed herbs into the pot and watched as they dissolved in. The translucent liquid turned a cold metallic color. Hermione bit her lip. This potion could never be confused for wine, she'd have to use a spell to conceal it's color to get her parents to drink it. She floated the empty wine bottle over and poured ladles of the potion it into the bottle until it was full. After another wave of her wand, the bottle was resealed. Hermione took her time cleaning herself up for dinner and before she knew it, it was time for the final test. Her birthday dinner.

She went to the main house and Wendell and Monica were both there to greet her.

"Is Duke running late?" Wendell asked when he noticed Hermione was alone.

In all her pondering, she had forgotten that she would have to lie to them. "He was called home and had to cut his trip short."

Monica's face changed to worry. "Oh dear! I hope it's nothing bad."

Hermione tried her best to sound upbeat. "No, nothing terrible, just something he had to take care of. He asked that I apologize to you for not saying goodbye." This seemed to satisfy the pair and they let her in the house.

"The food is almost done, but we can start on some bread if you're hungry." Wendell suggested as they neared the dining room.

"And wine!" Hermione smiled as she held up the bottle she was carrying. "We can toast my thank you for your hospitality."

"And we'll toast your birthday," Monica slid her arm around her husband as he nodded. She gestured to the waiting wine glasses. There were four laid out, but Hermione grabbed the nearest three. Wendell uncorked the bottle and began to pour. Under her breath, Hermione muttered a glamour spell just in time. The liquid coming out the bottle appeared to be a deep burgundy. She exhaled heavily in relief.

The three lifted their glassed and clinked them together. "Cheers!"

Hermione brought her glass to her lips but stopped there. Her parents tipped their goblets back. Hermione watched them both take sips and swallow and their faces quickly contorted in surprise.

"My, my! I think this wine may have gone bad..." Monica said diplomatically. Slowly her features drooped and she yawned. Next to her, Wendell began blinking rapidly as if he was trying to wake up from a disorienting nap.

Hermione's eyes welled with tears. "Mum? Dad?" Her parents looked at each other in confusion and Hermione thought her heart would stop. Did the potion not work? Then without warning, she was enveloped in a hug with four other arms. Her mum was sobbing into her shoulder and her dad was laughing with joy.

"Hermione, what happened?" Her mum said when she was able to control her voice.

"I'm sorry! I had to protect you, and this was the only way I knew how." Her dad kissed her on the top of her head. She explained what she had done, then gave them the shortened version of the end of the war. She took care to steer away from the parts where she had been in extreme danger, but she didn't want to sugarcoat it either. She listed the fatalities of the people they had met or would know from her stories over the years. In the end, the shortened version wasn't all that short and by the time she was finished, tears were dried to her cheeks and their food had been long burnt.

Her parents embraced her again. "I think it's time to go home," Mr. Granger said and the women agreed. They abandoned their dinner plans for travel plans. Hermione was happier than she could remember. Now that she had her parents back, the war finally felt over.


	18. Chapter 18

**D**

Draco arrived home under a storm cloud of fury. It had taken him a sack full of galleons and a few glaring threats to make the journey as quick as possible and even then it was still several hours until he was on the grounds of Malfoy Manor. The time did nothing to relieve his anger. His heart was pumping loud in his ears like thunder as he crashed through the entrance hall and up to his quarters. Once inside, he locked the door and soundproofed the walls with two decisive flicks of his wand. He couldn't hold it in any longer; he had barely kept it together for his trip.

It started as a rumble in his belly, then rose. Instead of just escaping through his mouth, it felt like his scream emanated out of every pore of his being. It shook out through the tremors of his fists, burned through the heat on his brow, and leaked into the sweat that beaded on his upper lip.

_Granger! That insufferable...!_

Draco's mind was too occupied with rage to complete a sentence. Without looking he grabbed the first thing he could reach and hurled it across the room. It was a silver pocket watch, he noticed, just before it smacked against the wall and shattered with a satisfying bang. Then he was fueled with the need to break as many things as he could. Faster and faster, he snatched everything small enough to throw and launched them one after another into the pile of debris. This continued until one thing stopped him mid wind up.

The compass. He had forgotten he had it. Granger had dropped it outside of the house the first night they showed up to find her parents. He had hidden it in his pocket and then kept it in his bag. Now here it was to witness his destruction.

Draco spun the stone in his hand and traced Granger's weeks old blood stain that had already turned from crimson to brown. _Muddy blood_ , he thought. Suddenly his skin was crawling. He felt so unclean. He ran himself a scalding hot bath and filled it with the most astringent soap in his arsenal. With a rough sponge, he began to scour away any evidence of her. She had lain against his chest. She had sat on his lap. Her skin had been under his hands. Her lips had been against his mouth. Her scent was haunting him. If only he could find a way to wipe her from the places the sponge couldn't touch. His brain. His heart.

A fresh wave of disgust hit him from that thought. He scrubbed harder. Finally he took notice of the one spot he had yet to cleanse.

He looked down at his left forearm and remembered how first her fingertips had swept over his scarred mark, then her cheek, and her lips. Again with thoughts of her lips. Just like that his disgust soured. Between the two of them, she was not the one to be disgusted by, it was him. He rubbed his arm ferociously, past the point of pain. There had to be new skin under there if he could get deep enough, skin that was unblemished by the evil he once carried. Draco didn't stop until nausea hit him with a metallic smell. His blood pinked the bath in delicate water clouds. Slowly his anger fizzled and he was left feeling hollow.

_What had he done?_ Regret replaced his anger and he allowed himself to wallow in it. He had known it would be a shock to her to find out his identity and he had made it worse by lashing out at her. Maybe things would have gone differently if he showed her some softness. But he had always been taught that softness was weakness and there was something about old habits. Anyway, it was hard to think logically when his emotions were so high. Her rejection had wounded him more than he cared to admit.

She _had_ rejected him, hadn't she? Yes, that definitely happened, but now that he had his faculties back, he tried to recall the moment when she had truly spurned him. Was it before or after he verbally assaulted her? She had only said she was going to bring the potion to her parents without him, which disheartened him at the time, but what had she meant by it exactly? She hadn't kicked him out until he had stooped to saying some despicable things to her.

Well, it was a moot point on who drew first blood, he thought as misery gnawed in his gut. Her hatred for him must be cemented after their blow up, that is if it wasn't already before that. Unfortunately his newfound hope was still struggling for the surface.

What if he went back? As he imagined her parents with their altered memories, a brilliant idea struck him. He could obliviate her! He wouldn't make it too strong, just enough to erase her memories of her revelation on Duke's identity. Then he could try again. He could find some way to tell her and explain that he hadn't done it to trick her. He could let her be mad if she needed, and meet any anger with understanding and patience.

Draco eased his way out of the bath and into fresh clothes. A new calm was over him as he retraced his steps to leave the manor. His mother saw him on the stairs on his way down.

"Oh Draco! I'd love to hear about your trip. You were gone for weeks and you never sent a single owl!" She harped after him. "Draco, where are you going?"

"Out," was his short response.

"But darling, you just got home." Her tone wasn't laced with guilt, but true sadness. Draco guessed it must be hard on her to be at the manor when his father was mandated to stay roaming the halls, and with none of the lavish entertainment she used to enjoy.

"Mother," he said as he paused at the door, "when I come back again, I promise to sit for tea with you and tell you anything you ask. But for now, I have unfinished business. Please, Mother." He wasn't really asking, but he knew she would appreciate the words.

"Alright. Do you know when that might be?"

Draco ran a hand through his hair to think. That answer all depended on how things go with Granger. "Undetermined, but if it will be long I will send an owl this time." The response placated her enough and Draco left the manor.

After another large exchange of money, he was on his way back to Australia. The world whizzed by far below his flying carriage window. As the hours ticked by on his return trip, he started to rethink his plan. Obliviating her would likely be only a temporary solution. If his memory potion worked, she could just take some herself when she realized she was missing something, and he had no doubts that she would realize her memory was faulty. When that happens, she would find out about his deceit, and if he knew anything about her, he would guess that trick would be even harder for her to forgive.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. It was a stupid plan to begin with. He wasn't exactly an expert on memory charms anyway, so there was no guarantee that he could erase enough to help his cause but not too much to cause her brain damage. Memory is a dangerous thing to tamper with. Granger had proven that from all the trouble she had already gone through to restore her parents' memories.

Alright then, obliviating was out of the question. Did he have another option?

_Of course_ , he thought as his stomach squirmed with queasiness, _apologize_.

He realized he had only said sorry to her when she thought he was Duke. It had been easier then, given the anonymity his false face afforded him. If she was having a hard time figuring out how much of his act as Duke was real, he had to repeat it as himself. That must have been what she wanted in the first place. If that's what it took to get what he wanted, he could do it again. He meant it, so it couldn't be that hard to say, right? He tried to sell the thought, but he wasn't very convincing.

The journey felt even longer this time around and he could hardly wait, but when he finally reached the edge of the Wilkins' property in Australia, he held back and looked at the house from afar. It looked all wrong, it was too dark. Draco checked closer but he already knew what he would find. The Grangers had already left. All three of them.

He tried to think quickly. They would have gone back home to England, but he had no idea where she lived so that wouldn't help. How could he find her?

Then for the second time that day he remembered the compass. It was in his pocket again. He held it up, imagining the witch as specifically as he could, and pricked his left index finger. When his blood had completed the ring, the needle began to spin. Draco waited for it to stop. Only it didn't stop spinning. Draco knitted his brows. Why wasn't it stopping?

The mask.

Granger had put the mask in her bag when they had first split it from the compass, she must still have it. It must be shielding her from the compass's magic the same way the legendary fox it came from evaded the hound.

Draco returned to his carriage, unable to decide if he was angry or depressed. She was his vixen and he was the hound, destined not to catch her.


	19. Chapter 19

**H**

Hermione walked hand in hand with her parents toward the Burrow. They used to make her walk like this to cross the street when she was young, with her mum on the left, her dad on the right, and her in the middle forming an unbroken line of hands. She felt like a child again but she didn't mind. After the hell of a year she'd had, she well deserved a little bit of babying comfort.

_Especially now_ , she thought as the Burrow loomed closer. With the news of her return from Australia, Arthur and Molly Weasley insisted on throwing her a welcome back party and a belated birthday party all in one. Hermione had run out of excuses to refuse and finally found herself about to face Ron after months of icy silence.

A throng of redheads exited the house to greet them on the lawn. Molly was in front of the group with her arms outstretched. First she pulled Hermione into a strong embrace, then moved on to each of her parents.   
Arthur came out quickly behind Molly. He gave Hermione an affectionate clap on her shoulders and a wink.

"Happy birthday, Hermione," he said before turning to her parents, "and welcome home to all of you! This is truly exceptional timing, you see, I've got a few fascinating muggle items in the shed that..." He trailed off under Molly's stern glare. "Yes, well. Come in, come in!"

Hermione followed them back to the Burrow as the other Weasley's sought her out. Ginny was missing since she was at Hogwarts and Charlie had returned to Romania before Hermione went away, but Bill was there with his wife Fleur. The two had recently celebrated their first wedding anniversary but still gazed at each other like newlyweds. Percy gave her a polite welcome and George looked far away and tired as he wished her a happy birthday. Harry was close behind and quickened his step when he could see her.

"Only one letter? Are you feeling alright? You've never been so quiet!" He exclaimed as he pretended to check her forehead for a fever. Hermione laughed him off and hugged him tight. Harry lowered his voice against her ear. He had become so used to needing to keep their discussions secret over the years and hadn't yet kicked the habit. "So you found something exciting besides your parents?"

Hermione sucked in a breath and tried to decide how much she should reveal to him right away. Her chance slipped away as Ron, last of the group, caught her attention standing in the distance awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Harry glanced over, too. Faster than she could protest, Harry snapped his head to the side and was suddenly very interested in what her parents were doing with Mr. Weasley. He yelled something about the purpose of a golf club in their general direction and hurried away.

Hermione cursed him in her head. _Oh, Harry! For being such a fearless hero, you sure are chicken!_

When she was alone, Ron sheepishly made his way over to her. He looked around to check if anyone was within earshot and mumbled, "'Mione."

"Ronald," she acknowledged. She strained a smile and tried her best to make it look natural.

"Hullo," he responded. They stood side by side for what felt like ages watching everyone else until finally Ron cleared his throat. "I just wanted to say I uh… 'M sorry." He rubbed his finger under his nose and made a sniffling noise. Hermione could tell he was trying really hard.

She looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time in a long time. Could this man next to her possibly be the same boy she met on the Hogwarts train all those years ago? He had the same orange hair but he had grown it out and left it mussed, a fact Hermione was sure drove his mum crazy. He was much taller and sturdier and somewhere along the way he had grown into his nose. The starkest differences were the worry creases he had developed and the shadows that clung to them. He had lived through terrifying times where each goodbye to a loved one could have been the last, and for some it was. He was still Ron, but he was not the same. War changes a person.

_War changes you_ , she thought, and suddenly her inner monologue shifted. She imagined white blond hair and gray eyes. Days ago, in the high of her anger, she had convinced herself that Malfoy had an ulterior motive for cozying up to her, but could that be true? What would he stand to gain from that blackmail? If he told anyone about their time together he would have to reveal what he had said and done in return to her advances. The more she thought about it the less her conclusions made sense. He had only gotten heated with her after she had tried to distance herself from him. And when she had described his wand's affinity for both good and evil, those same gray eyes were tender but tormented as he asked her _"And which do you think of me?"_.

So war can change a person. She knew it could take things, Ron's spirit, for one. He seemed just a shell of his former self. Could war give things, too? Had the war shown Draco Malfoy the worst of wizardkind and forced him to grow a conscience? A heart?

"Hermione?"

She was pulled back to Ron's pleading eyes which were mercifully blind to the real thoughts in her head.

"I'm sorry, okay?" He said again.

He apologized. He must mean for their tryst, although she couldn't figure out why. He hadn't done anything wrong. It wasn't like he had taken advantage of her. She had wanted him then, needed him almost, and maybe crossing that line of their friendship was what she'd needed so she could truly let him go. She shrugged to clear the heavy air between them.

"For what?" she asked.

"Uh..." Ron scratched his head. It was obvious he hadn't expected her to say that. "I dunno, I guess." She suspected the opposite, more likely that he didn't know how to convey it.

"Well, I'm sorry, too," she chirped, sounding more positive than she felt. Perhaps that could even the playing field between them.

Ron looked at her in surprise again. "For what?" he echoed.

"I don't know." She hadn't meant to copy him back, but her mouth moved faster than her brain for once in her life. He stared at her for a moment confused, then his mouth widened into a goofy grin. She pursed her lips to keep serious, but she couldn't help it. He had a way of making her feel angry and silly at the same time. A small giggle escaped her. She covered her mouth quickly but then he was laughing outright and so was she. Her head was thrown back and when she ran out of breath she found Ron's arm around her and her head against his shoulder. She wiped a tear then steadied herself again.

"Ron, you know you're one of my very best friends?" Her voice was timid, scared to break their light mood.

He craned his neck to look down at her, sadness returning to his features. She continued. This was something that had to be said if there was any hope for them to go back to normal. "I love you as a friend and maybe I confused you because I was confused myself, but I wouldn't want to lose you. As my friend."

Ron's body went rigid and his face looked pained, like he really wished their conversation would be over an he could be anywhere else. Slowly he melted back into her side. "I suppose we wouldn't have worked anyway. I'm pretty hardheaded and you're quite pushy, you know." He forced a chuckle.

It was Hermione's turn to go stiff. Duke's words... no, Draco's words came back to her again, _"You're always pushy. But I wouldn't have you any other way."_ Was it actually possible that Draco could find an attractive trait in her where Ron saw a negative one?

"Hey." Ron seemed to sense that she pulled away so he grabbed her tighter. "I just don't want to lose anyone else. You're one of my best friends, too, yeah?"

Hermione nodded and leaned further into his shoulder with a satisfied sigh. Another weight she'd been carrying had been removed.

Harry ambled over to them, apparently deeming their mood safe enough for his return. "Ron's mum has a cake for you. Percy is demanding to help though, so we might have a good bit of time before she calls us all in." He looked at Hermione meaningfully.

Hermione took his cue and launched into the story of her adventure: her discovery that the compass could help her, her instincts to locate it, her idea to actually get a hold of it, the reunion with her parents. She tiptoed around some details, careful to leave Duke out of it so she wouldn't have to explain what happened to him. She stumbled over her words as she realized that her tale had holes when she told it as a solo trip. She lost herself so deeply in her lie that she must have forgotten to pay attention to how she said it.

"We?" Harry interrupted her.

"What?" Hermione jumped, her calm was ruffled as she registered her mistake.

"You said 'we' just now. Who was with you?"

"Oh, did I? No one. I meant just me. Or was I talking about me and my parents then? See, I don't even know what part of the story I'm on, I'm just too excited to talk straight!" She made a big show to roll her eyes at herself. Harry threw a suspicious look to Ron, but the redhead didn't seem bothered by the slip up.

"So can we see the compass?" Ron asked.

Hermione gasped. She hadn't thought about what happened to the compass after it had served its purpose for her. She had dropped it, but what had become of it? She still had the mask, she had seen it in her bag when she started to unpack after getting home.

"Erm... I may have... lost it?"

Ron guffawed. "You're kidding."

She shook her head at him. "But I've got the mask. I was thinking of contacting the London Magical Artefact Vault to donate it to their archives."

"Of course you would," Ron retorted with an exaggerated sarcastic scowl.

"A-hem." Another male voice startled the trio. It was Percy to announce that Molly wanted everyone inside for the cake.

Percy left them and the three friends headed toward the house in silence. Hermione slowly brought up the rear, overwhelmed by a warm emotion welling inside. She watched the two boys walk in front. Her boys. No matter what changed in her world she knew then stronger than ever, that would be a constant.

Maybe even one day their friendship could survive them hearing the real story of her trip to Australia, and her multitude of confusing thoughts surrounding a boy they once hated.


	20. Chapter 20

**D**

"Queen Hermione of Sicilia..."

Draco was in his chambers at Malfoy Manor, a book in hand. He had been home more than two weeks and had made no progress on finding Hermione in order to set things right with her. As the days passed, he slipped from despair to boredom. Then out of the blue he remembered a comment Mr. Granger (well, he had been Wendell at the time) made about Hermione's name. _"What a lovely, unusual name. Parents were fans of The Bard?"_ With nothing else to occupy his time, Draco researched and discovered The Bard of Avon was a muggle playwright from hundreds of years ago. Apparently his prolific works were still popular and were held in high intellectual esteem so Draco was easily able to find them.

It had taken Draco a few tries reading some other plays before he came across Queen Hermione in _The Winter's Tale_. He didn't particularly like the play. Sure, this Shakespeare guy had talent, but the character was nothing like his Hermione. The queen faked her death and hid for years because of a false accusation against her. _His_ Hermione would never take any kind of accusations lying down. She would fight.

Draco slammed his palm against his desk. The desk shook hard, causing a book and his newspaper to fall off the edge and clatter to the floor. _His Hermione?_ She was no more his than she was a queen of Sicilia. It was a fantasy. He was deluding himself, grasping for a connection when what he needed to do was let her go. Between the two of them, she had the power to make contact. She knew where he was and he had no clue where she was. Yet he'd gotten no word, no hint even, that she wanted to hear from him. Even if he did somehow find a way to her, would she be receptive to him? Honestly, he reasoned, he should be setting his expectations low to hedge the inevitable disappointment he would meet. _Should_ was the operative word, he sighed, but since he'd let hope enter his life, he realized it was turning out to be awfully difficult to squash.

He stooped down to collect the book and newspaper from the floor. The Daily Prophet was splayed half open and Draco caught sight of a familiar smile: a delicate mouth with the bottom lip slightly fuller than the upper lip. He snatched up the paper and opened it wider to confirm the photo was of his Hermione. She was in Ministry robes standing in the rotunda and shaking hands with some other official.

...

**War Heroine Donates Magical Find**

_Hermione Granger, best known as the brains behind Harry Potter's victory at The Battle of Hogwarts, has announced plans to donate an historic discovery to the London Magical Artefact Vault._

_Granger recently returned to work at the Ministry of Magic after an extended jaunt abroad, and she brought back a mysterious object with her. Little is known so far about what exactly the item is or how she came to acquire it. However, sources mention that the Artefact Vault has also been in contact with famed archeological author Neridiam Bram, so it is possible that he has previously written about the witch's find and he is being called upon to authenticate._

_The secretive contribution comes just before the Artefact Vault's annual fundraising gala. Granger and Bram are both expected to be in attendance at the gala, which is promising to reveal the piece as a new display._

_Tickets for the gala can be purchased through owl post to the Artefact Vault. The event will be held on October 9th at 7:00 PM in the Artefact Vault's Antiquities Hall. Attire is formal. Hors d'oeuvres and cash bar._  
...

Draco's face erupted in a wide smile. The gala! His parents used to be in attendance every year. Draco had gone himself before he was old enough to be at Hogwarts for the school year. It was a black tie event where do-gooders and scholars rubbed elbows with the rich folk that funded their missions. This was his chance to see her. Of course, he might have hoped for a bit more privacy, but he supposed in a crowd she wouldn't be able to hex him into next year. Or at least he'd have witnesses.

The problem was, Draco didn't remember seeing an invitation this year. Probably they were trying to discourage the presence of former Death Eaters. He checked his calendar. It was only the sixth, so there was still time! A plan formed in his mind and he summoned a quill and some parchment. He drafted a letter to the vault's curator offering the compass, the other half of Granger's discovery, as a donation in return for a ticket to the gala. He briefly imagined his return to grace launched by this high profile donation, but he thought better of it. He requested to have his donation be anonymous, something he was sure the curator would be grateful for to avoid any negative connotations from the Malfoy name. Anyway, Hermione would know where the compass came from, and that would likely earn him some points in her eyes. At any rate, Draco couldn't begin to imagine how he would explain to the public how they had each been in possession of one half of the same discovery. When he was finished with his letter, he gave it to the family owl and sent it off.

As he waited for a response, he pulled another book off his pile. _Romeo and Juliet_. Draco started the new play and almost immediately put it down. Two young lovers take their life? How morbid, and not the kind of results he wanted to dwell on as he planned his reunion with Hermione. He watched out the window for a bit, but when his owl didn't return in the next hour, curiosity got the best of him and he reopened the book. As the first act continued, the title character Romeo was introduced, wallowing in melancholy over unrequited love. Now this was something Draco could relate to. He became so absorbed with reading that he didn't notice his owl slip back in his window.

...  
 _"'Tis but thy name that is my enemy;_  
 _Thou art thyself, though not a Montague._  
 _What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,_  
 _Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part_  
 _Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!_  
 _What's in a name? that which we call a rose_  
 _By any other name would smell as sweet;_  
 _So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,_  
 _Retain that dear perfection which he owes_  
 _Without that title."_  
...

Draco smiled wistfully. Juliet loved Romeo for his character, his soul, despite his family name being her enemy. This was what he needed from Hermione: that she recognize that the name Draco Malfoy wasn't what made him who he was. A soft coo disturbed him from his thoughts and he finally noticed the patient owl perched on his windowsill. He grabbed two letters out of the bird's clutch and returned to his seat. The curator from the Artefact Vault had responded! Draco tore through the envelope and nearly exploded with excitement. The curator had agreed to his terms and a ticket to the gala was folded into the letter. In his elation, Draco forgot about the second letter. He needed to plan what he would say and how he would act to have his best shot at her forgiveness. He couldn't let his temper or any surprise get to him this time.

For the umpteenth time since he'd been back, he thought back to that last night he'd spent in the cottage with Hermione. He hadn't yet caught his breath from their kiss and she'd said, _"Whatever might be on the list of things you should be sorry for, that was not one of them."_

That was how he'd start then, with a list. He would include every wrong he'd ever done so he wouldn't forget. So she would know he meant it.

He scrambled for his parchment and quill again and began.

_Calling Hermione Granger a mudblood_

The first one was easy, he wanted the list to be personal to her. She had to be able to see that she was his purpose.

After the first bullet point he started to have trouble. How does one break down eighteen years of wrong doing into a comprehensive list? He thought for minute and concluded he'd have to start with the big things.

_Planning a murder_

Well there it is. _A murder_. That had been his task during his sixth year at school, to eliminate Dumbledore, and he'd hurt others with each failed attempt. Somehow anything else he could write seemed to pale in comparison. Still, he focused and forced himself to continue. He added the results of his failure to the list.

_Hurting innocents_

Moving on. He had tortured Thorfinn Rowle, a fellow Death Eater, with the Cruciatus Curse under the Dark Lord's direction. It had been Rowle's punishment for not being able to capture Hermione and those tossers she called her friends. Was this something to be sorry for? It was an Unforgivable Curse, but if he had performed it on someone who deserved it, did it count as something wrong? Draco remembered the emotional agony that came along with the act and decided to include it.

_Torture using Cruciatus_

When Draco couldn't come up with anything left for his list, he put down his quill and looked around. He needed something to relieve his mind from all the darkness he'd just remembered. He pictured Hermione, terrified but strong, as he confessed his sins, accepted her absolution. When he opened his eyes, her image had chased away the darkness. A calm smile returned. It was then that he realized he never opened the second envelope his owl delivered.

He sliced through the envelope, extracted a thin letter, and laid it down on his desk on top of his apology list. Draco didn't recognize the sender so he went straight to the message. The further he read, the more confused he became. His brows knit together trying to make sense of the words. Once he finished, he started again from the beginning and read it a second time. This time he began to understand. Draco's vision turned red and his stomach was a boiling heat. He clawed at the letter and crumpled it into a ball, crushing it as tightly as he could in his fist.

"Granger!" He fumed. His sudden rage already caused him to forget his plans for reconciliation.

_She would pay for this._


	21. Chapter 21

**H**

Hermione felt like she was dreaming. Her life had never been better. She had her parents back, her friends back, and even her job back. Actually, not the same job. When she returned home, she found the Ministry was desperate to have her and she used it to secure herself a new position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She could already tell her days would be better spent here than in her last position, and the fact that she was now on the same floor as the boys made it easier to see familiar faces during the day. Life was good. Not to mention that in a few days she was going to be the guest of honor at a charity gala where she would get to meet one of her scholarly heroes.

Life wasn't entirely perfect, though. She hated to admit it but something was missing. Sometimes she felt it when she looked at Ron, thinking about what might have been. Not that she regretted their decision to stay friends, she knew Ron wasn't the one. She just missed what he used to represent to her, the butterflies and yearning.

And sometimes she allowed herself to imagine him. She was trying not to think of his name, only of his character, hoping to see if that would help figure out her feelings. He entered her thoughts again as she allowed herself a moment to daydream at work after lunch. Her imagination was so vivid, she could even hear his voice clearly in her mind.

_"Where's Hermione Granger?"_

Was that in her head or was that real? She could just barely make out a mumbled response outside her office door which promptly banged open.

Real. Draco Malfoy barged in and approached her. Hermione instantly lowered her gaze to her desk when he slapped down a crumbled parchment.

"What is this?" he demanded. His voice was low and controlled but Hermione could sense the anger radiating from him.

"It looks like a letter to me." she responded, smoothing out the crinkles. She took a deep calming breath. Maybe if she could keep her emotions in check, she could pacify him. Then she could see if his soft side was sincere or a cruel act. She simply had to stay clear-headed long enough to figure him out.

He huffed back. "Don't patronize me. I'm talking about what's in the letter." She could hear the snarl in his voice.

Hermione breathed slowly again and looked closer. "Oh the potions database has accepted your memory potion. That's great news."

"News to me, you mean! You submitted my potion?"

"It worked," she said matter-of-factly, "I figured the world should know about it."

Malfoy raised his chin and looked down his nose at her. "You had no right!"

Hermione's jaw dropped and for the first time since he'd walked in, she raised and narrowed her eyes to meet his. "I think you mean _thank you_." She crossed her arms across her chest. "So you're welcome."

"Excuse me?" he hissed. "I'm supposed to be thankful for you stealing my thunder and stealing my credit?"

"Stealing your... _what_ are you talking about?" She sputtered.

Malfoy threw his arms up. "Like you don't know." Hermione looked down at the letter again and read further.

...  
_From the office of the Society for Magical Advancement_

_Mr. Malfoy,_

_We are pleased to inform you that your memory potion has been accepted for inclusion in the International Potioneer Database. Your work is also in the running for the award for Most Important Magical Innovation of the Year. Our joint induction ceremony and award ceremony will be held soon._

_Due to recent events, you can understand how we would be keen on avoiding undue controversy. In lieu of having you at the ceremony in person, we have decided to go another route and have an emissary accept any induction certificate or award on your behalf. As Ms. Hermione Granger has firsthand knowledge of your potion, she will make a suitable substitute._

_Sincerely,_

_Wilford Bugninny_  
_Executive Chairperson_  
... 

__

Hermione clicked her tongue as realization dawned on her. That's what this was all about; Malfoy's anger made sense now. They were accepting his potion, but they weren't accepting him, because of his history, his name. It was the same as she'd done just a few short weeks ago. Those wounds must feel fresh again, and renewed doubly deep. 

Instead of turning her face up again to see him, she kept it down. Without seeing him she could pretend she was talking to someone else. To Duke. She could keep things civil, kind even. "I didn't know," she squeaked. "They hadn't asked me yet. I swear." 

Averting her gaze worked. Blocking out his image let her feel sorry for him and a longing to comfort him. Unfortunately it seemed to have to reverse effect on Malfoy. The longer she looked away, the more she could feel a rage pulse in the air around him. 

"Maybe, but they will ask you. And you'll say yes, I've no doubt. Teacher's pet Granger can never miss an opportunity to show off how clever she is." He paused but Hermione refused to rise to his bait. He placed his hands down on her desk and leaned in. She squeezed her eyes shut. 

"Well I've got some more news for you, then," he whispered. "I've decided to make a certain donation of my own at the charity gala. Perhaps I'll find someone who'd like to hear who really found the mask and compass." 

Hermione jumped in surprise. "It wasn't just you. It was both of us, equally!" 

"Sure, you say that now, but if I hadn't come knocking I think you would have been perfectly comfortable letting everyone think you did it on your own." 

Hermione's defenses were fully raised. "Actually, you didn't knock. You intruded on my work and I'm going to have to ask you to see yourself out. Now." 

"No bother," Malfoy quipped, his anger had since cooled to an icy exterior. "We'll be seeing each other soon enough." He crossed the room and left. 

Hermione was still shaking as she shot a spell to close the door. She missed the fist time, causing her potted plant to wobble and tip over. She tried again forcefully and this time the door shut with a loud crack, She dropped her head into her hands. That was not how she was hoping their next meeting would go, but despite hope it was more or less in line with what she expected. 

_She_ should be the one angry, she reasoned. He had tricked her. She should have demanded answers and he should have been the one to explain himself. Instead, she was defending herself from something she didn't even know she caused. But even unknowingly, she did cause it, and she couldn't help the wave of guilt that overtook her as she scanned the letter again. 

She picked up the page to pull it close but something felt off. It was thicker than it should be. She rubbed the parchment between her fingers and discovered why: it wasn't one parchment, it was two! She peeled the top page away and revealed the one underneath. Was it further details about the ceremony? No, it was... a list? Hermione's confusion grew. The words didn't make sense. 

___Calling Hermione Granger a mudblood_  
_Planning a murder_  
_Hurting innocents_  
_Torture using Cruciatus_

Hermione recognized the penmanship, it was the same hand that had written the careful instructions for her parents' memory potion. It was the handwriting that she had been searching for weeks, trying to find a clue into the heart of its creator. Malfoy. 

Hermione gasped. What did this mean, was he back to his old ways? Attempting murder? Torture? Right when she thought there might be a seed of good in him, he showed his true colors, and they were dark. 

Well, good riddance, she thought. It's better that she find out now than if she had made a fool of herself by believing him. Again. She let out a loud harumph to herself. If she had to see him at the gala in a few days, she was going to make him sweat in regret. 


	22. Chapter 22

**D**

Melvina Short, the curator of the London Magical Artefact Vault, was anything but short, Draco mused. She was an elegant older witch with deep ebony skin and stood at least a head taller than Draco. It had been a long time since someone had this kind of height on Draco and it made him feel childish again. She welcomed him in with guarded cordiality and Draco handed over the package that held the compass.

"Thank you, Mister Malfoy. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll make sure this gets where it belongs." The curator lowered her head in a bow and took her leave.

Draco wandered into the hall. He was starting to feel like himself again. He'd slicked his blond hair back as usual and was impeccably dressed in an expensive suit. Everyone around him was dressed to the nines as well. His eyes roved the crowd appreciating the finery until his gaze fell upon a vision in gold. The witch was standing alone with her back to him. Her arms were covered from her wrists to her shoulders in the lacey fabric, but the creamy skin of her back was intimately exposed by the plunging dress. The fabric came together again just at the small of her back where it hugged the delicate slope of her rear and cascaded to the floor. She had the allure of a golden snitch, teasing him to catch her. Draco straightened his jacket. She could be just what he needed to get over his slump.

Then the woman turned and Draco jumped. Of course, he should have recognized that hair. Even when it was tamed into a graceful knot, the color and curls were unmistakable.

Hermione Granger wasn't playing at being a snitch, she was a Gryffindor Golden Girl, unattainable in every way. Draco watched her walk through the crowd. He was out of her line of sight so he was allowed to admire the front of her dress without her knowing. She wore a modest shallow neckline, but it dipped just low enough for Draco to see more of her delicious skin at the curve where her neck met her shoulder. He'd once kissed that spot and the memory of it forced him to swallow hard.

Of course Weasel and Pothead joined her. Draco couldn't control the scowl that overtook him when Weasel gave her a smiling onceover. The blond took a step forward and the motion must have caught her attention and her head swiveled in his direction. Damn! She saw him looking. Was that a hint of a grin he saw play on her features? He changed his course quickly and went straight for the bar. A night like tonight called for a formal staple: Dragon Barrel Brandy. He ordered one, left a tab open, and immediately downed the glass. He was polishing off a second when all of a sudden he was aware of a dark-haired figure beside him.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Potter asked. His voice was wary but not dangerous.

Draco's eyes subconsciously found Hermione then flicked quickly back to his drink. "What does it look like, Potter? I'm getting pissed." He took another swig from his glass but Potter didn't go away. "My family and I have been generous patrons of the museum for years. In fact, I'm a recent benefactor. I was invited as a thank you." Draco swished his drink in his mouth and let his expression settle into a smug smirk.

Potter ordered a butterbeer and leaned against the bar on one elbow. He nodded his head deliberately in the direction of a large ornate curtain in the center of the room.

"Just behind that curtain is the museum's new showpiece. Hermione's discovery, you probably read about it in the _Prophet_. Sounded like it came in a set from what she told me, too bad she only had the one." Potter paid for his butterbeer and took a sip. He was still standing next to Draco but purposefully looking anywhere but.

Draco grunted. "Your point, Potter?"

"I'm only saying I heard her other half might be here tonight. The other half, I mean. Just that it'd be nice if they were together, is all." With that, Potter looked directly at him and Draco couldn't help feeling like Potter wasn't as dumb as he looked. Unless... unless Granger told him about their trip.

Draco slammed his empty glass on the counter. He stalked over to Granger and grabbed her elbow. She and Weasel stared at him in shock. "I need to talk to you," he growled under his breath.

Granger recovered from her shock and regarded him bitterly. "If you must."

Weasel balled his fists but with a consolatory motion from Hermione, he released and pinned his palms to his side to hold himself back. Weasel gave a shrug that he tried to seem uncaring but betrayed his irritation. Weasel let the pair go and Draco could feel the redhead's glare burning a hole in his back as he led Granger away.

Draco was silent until he found a place to hide them from the masses, behind the curtain that concealed the mask and compass. Once they were out of sight he rounded on her. "You told Potter?!"

"Told him what?" She wrenched her arm out of his grasp and rubbed it, wearing a sullen pout.

Draco didn't respond right away. Up close, her dress was even more stunning. The color was soft and glowing, reminding him of sensuous candlelight. The fabric pulled in at her waist and he imagined the time when he had held her against himself by gripping that waist. A sweat had broken out around his neck and he lost his train of thought.

"Hello? Told him what?" Granger prompted, but her tone had changed. Draco looked back up on her face. There was that evil grin again. She knew exactly the effect she was having and was delighting in rubbing it in his face!

Draco tensed his jaw and bit back. "You bloody well know what. Why is he being… nice?"

"Calm down, I didn't tell him anything that involved you." Granger raised an eyebrow at him. "I didn't tell _anybody_ actually. Believe it or not, some people are nice simply for the purpose of being nice."

Draco snapped his mouth shut. "You didn't tell him?" he asked incredulously.

"Of course I bloody didn't! Then I would have had to admit that I…" but she let her sentence trail off unfinished, fuming silently. Whatever she hadn't wanted to admit to anyone else, he wouldn't get to know either.

The hairs on the back of Draco's neck stood up and he turned his head to the left and scanned the empty space. He suddenly had the sensation that they were being watched. When he couldn't find anyone prying, he angled back toward his golden witch. She really was beautiful. Maybe this was his chance to prove he was different now. Instead of perpetuating their fight like his old self would, he could do what he meant to do weeks ago: apologize. He lost himself in the depths of her eyes and wondered to himself what they were even fighting about anyway, the possibility that she'd told Potter some choice details of their trip? By the way she'd reacted, that couldn't be true. Did it even matter? If Potter did know, he was acting strangely okay with it. Draco slumped his shoulders and released a heavy sigh. This was no time to overthink.

"Look, Hermione, I..." He started, but before he could figure out what to say, part of the curtain to his right was pulled back and in walked Melvina Short. Was she who he'd sensed earlier? Did she just wait for the most inopportune moment to interrupt? Draco silently cursed his luck.

"There you are, Ms. Granger. And you've found our anonymous donor, wonderful!" The curator's smile was wide. "Neridiam Bram has just arrived and I arranged for you to meet him before the unveiling. He's waiting in the antechamber for a chat. Shall we?"

Hermione shot him a last quizzical look and followed the tall woman out of their curtained area. Draco squared his shoulders and watched them retreat. The night wasn't over yet. This was his pursuit. She was no longer his uncatchable fox mask. She was his golden snitch and he was the seeker, and he was determined to win. At least give it one more try.


	23. Chapter 23

**H**

Neridiam Bram was an aging man, but Hermione could tell he used to be athletic, attractive even. He had a studious air to him, though his broad shoulders and his salt and pepper stubble hinted that he also liked to get his hands dirty. Maybe it was all those years of treasure hunting he had under his belt. Bram's eyes lit up with excitement when he saw the group coming toward him. Malfoy was still a few steps behind when the curator Ms. Short began the introductions.

"Miss Granger! How do you do?" Bram said as he kissed her hand with a wink. Hermione smiled back. Yes, he must have made all the ladies swoon back in his prime. "And Mr. Malfoy, I presume?"

Hermione noticed Malfoy wince. They all knew Bram would recognize Draco, headlines of his father's trial had been anything but quiet, and his play at ignorance was not lost.

"You'll have to excuse me, Mr. Malfoy," Bram continued, mistaking Draco's expression, "I know you requested your donation be anonymous, but I simply insisted to know the identity of both halves of the young couple who'd found the Laelaps compass and the Cadmean Mask when the blasted things so skillfully eluded me. Quite an impressive feat!"

There was that word again, _couple_. Back when her parents were still Monica and Wendell they had used the same word to describe her and Draco. Well, her and Duke, technically, as that had been before he had revealed his true face. She refused to look at Draco but could feel him bristle next to her as he too reacted to the word. Hermione didn't want to sound petulant in correcting the author, yet something about letting the comment slide sat uneasily with her this time. What would Draco think if she did nothing? What did she want him to think? She didn't know so she compromised and sidestepped away from the younger man, widening the gap of space between them.

"Don't worry, your secret is safe with me," Bram said affably, seeming not to notice their tension, "Not that I understand why you wouldn't want credit, but I can honor it. What I really would like to know is _how_ you found them. I figured if Mr. Malfoy was being left out of the spotlight, the true story might get lost with him."

Hermione chanced a look in Draco's direction, unsure if she should explain or if he would start talking. Draco was hesitant as well.

"A bit of luck, really," she said, eyes still locked with Draco, "and a few well-timed good guesses."

Bram let out a booming laugh. "Surely that's not all you have to say for yourselves?"

"There may have been some intellect involved as well," Draco added. The corner of his mouth twitched up slightly, and Hermione couldn't tell if his smile was actually trying to be modest or cheeky. Bram prodded some more and, between the two of them, they pieced together their story. They explained the instinct to stay in the country of origin, and Hermione's hunch that the artefacts might be in Muggle possession, then their search of astronomy, art, and navigational museums. Bram nodded and mhmed at all the right moments, and was satisfyingly amazed at their creation of the magnetism potion from a love potion.

"Brilliant!" Bram concluded. "Truly, what a tantalizing story. I do so miss the adventures I had at your age." His mind looked absent for a moment as some exhilarating memory of exploits past overtook him. When he came to, his seemed surprised when all three were still standing with him. He gestured at the curator. "Melvina promised me a glimpse of the compass and mask before they are revealed to the public, and I daresay   
I'm running out of time. But Melvina, permit me to stall you just a bit longer?"

The towering woman gave her agreement with a coy smile. "I'll wait for you at the curtain," she said and left the room. Bram turned back to Hermione and Draco.

"You see, I've got another motive for hoping to meet with the two of you. You obviously make a great team and I'm sure if you put your heads together you could find countless other items that have been lost to the ages. The offer is this: a job, working with me, of course. We do research on some artefacts and hunt them down. I would write a book or a series of books about them if we can track down enough. Maybe call it _The Lost and Found Chronicles_." He waved his hand in front of him once for each word of his working title as if he were reading it off a marquee.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. A job? It was certainly an intriguing idea, and admittedly she rather enjoyed herself during the chase, not to mention the accolades that came later. However, say she and Draco both accepted this offer, then she would be resigning herself to be his partner, whatever that entailed. The fact that this idea didn't immediately dissuade her was cause for concern, she thought, but then the memory of that list she'd found brought her back to sanity. _Calling Granger a mudblood, planning a murder, hurting innocents, torture using cruciatus_. Hermione shivered, then realized her shiver wasn't because of the memory. She looked around, abruptly feeling that they had an unwelcome observer. A new voice announced itself from the doorway.

"How sad," the voice said and the owner of the voice stalked over. It was a honey-skinned woman with pin straight gray hair, which struck Hermione as odd because (by her guess) the woman could only have been ten years her senior at most. The hair coloring must be a fashion statement. She was stunning, Hermione thought, in an overly made-up sort of way. Without meaning to, Hermione looked back at Draco to gauge how he felt about the new presence. He was staring directly at the woman with caution.

"Hello, Miss Laceroot," Bram sighed.

"Call me Dymphna," the woman extended her hand to Draco, expecting a kiss. Draco shook it awkwardly but Dymphna's smile didn't falter.

"You're Dymphna Laceroot, the author?" Hermione asked, eyeing her up and down. That evening at the Leaky Cauldron came to mind, when she'd first met "Duke". He was reading one of this woman's books and they'd gotten into a competitive tiff over it.

"And explorer," Dymphna added, returning Hermione's calculating glare. "Neridiam, it just seems so sad how far you've fallen. Stooping to begging _children_ to do the things you're too old to do anymore." She said, a slick grin restored on her features. Bram looked affronted but it was Draco who spoke up next.

"Yes, I suppose he could just make the whole thing up and sell a pair of fake gloves."

The color left Dymphna's face and Hermione couldn't contain a chortle. When they had argued about Dymphna's book, Hermione had pointed out that the Sylbering gloves, relics that Dymphna had "found" and sold to the Artefact Vault, were nothing but a forgery. Hermione could prove it by an incorrect rune in the embroidery. Quietly she wondered how the fraudulent gloves had gotten past the museum's research team, but then again, she wasn't part of that team.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dymphna hissed through her teeth.

"Let me clarify, then." Draco took a step forward and spoke with the frigid composure that Hermione remembered him for. "It has come to my attention that some of the runes on the gloves' inscription may not be entirely accurate to the time period."

Dymphna's mouth hung open breathless. Draco continued. "Now, if I were a pessimist, I'd call you a malicious swindler for trying to pass them off as the real gloves. But as I myself am turning over a new leaf and trying to see the good in people," he paused and threw an almost imperceptible accusatory squint at Hermione. "I think the benefit of the doubt might say that at best, perhaps you were just confused and didn't realize the difference." The inflection in his tone made the word _confused_ sound a lot like _stupid_ to Hermione. The aggression of Dymphna's stance told Hermione that she had surmised the same.

"You may want to tell the curator that confusion story before someone else tells the other version."

Dymphna closed her mouth and narrowed her eyes. The woman hung there, deciding her next move, but after a minute she left without so much as a goodbye.

Hermione was taken aback by the vehemence in Draco's defense. She'd never seen him use his agency for good before. Bram on the other hand looked positively elated.

"Should I take that as a yes from you, then?" He asked and feigned a punch to Draco's bicep.

Draco looked at Hermione and his expression looked like a mix between asking permission and hope. "I will consider it, but I am interested."

Bram turned his attention to Hermione. "What about you, young lady?"

She bit her lip. Somehow she felt her answer would disappoint both of them. "I appreciate the offer, I really do, but I am happy with my current job at the Ministry."

"Too bad," Bram tisked and extracted his business cards from a pocket under his lapel. He handed one to Draco, then a second to Hermione. "In case you change your mind," he reasoned. He waved a cheery goodbye and left the room to join the curator at the display before it was officially opened.

They were alone again. Or, Hermione hoped they were, because the gooseflesh on her arms hadn't subsided and she still felt like she was on alert, like they were being watched. The pair stood awkwardly, neither wanting to be the first to break the silence.

"Look, Hermione," Draco started, and just then she remembered he had been interrupted before. His face seemed so candid, so earnest. What had he meant to say? Would it make her feel better? Would it make her feel differently about him? Then she recalled his list again and her resolve returned.

"No." She stomped her foot to get him to stop talking. "I've already had a look at a certain list of yours. _Planning a murder. Torture using cruciatus._ Sound familiar? I think that's the only look I need to take."

Draco was visibly startled by her outburst. "Where did you see that?" he asked.

She turned up her nose. "It was stuck to the letter you received from the Society for Magical Advancement. I don't think it's too hard to deduce its meaning." She stared daggers at him.

Draco tilted his head to the side. "It's not?"

"It's pretty clear to me. You're planning something, starting with going back to your old insult for me." Her hands were on her hips now.

Draco released a loud huff of air. "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

"What?" Hermione's eyes bulged. Draco Malfoy was quoting a muggle author to her?

"It's Shakespeare."

"I know it's Shakespeare, you oaf." She tapped her foot with impatience. "I mean how do you know it and why are you reciting it to me?"

"A rose would be sweet no matter what name it goes by, but you seem to have decided that I'm abhorrent no matter what _I'm_ called. And apparently now anything I've ever done is terrible by association."

Hermione was building up to retort back. It looked like Draco could sense this because he put his arms out with his palms facing her. "I know why that is, I can't blame you. For years I led you to believe that's who I am. It's who I was. You're wrong about this, though. That list is not plans."

Hermione's head was reeling. He was telling her she was wrong, but there was no self-congratulating smirk accompanying the sentiment. And his stance seemed so... submissive, imploring. She didn't trust herself to   
speak. She lifted an eyebrow to prompt him to go on.

"It's my list of things I should be sorry for." He admitted. His voice was so quiet, Hermione didn't think she heard him correctly.

"I'm sorry?" she asked.

"No, _I_ am," he replied. He pursed his lips, seeming to have found himself funny.

She looked at him in confusion and shook her head. "I don't get it." She really _didn't_ get it. Why was he being nice? Her own words from earlier in the night came back to haunt her. _Some people are nice simply for the purpose of being nice_. This was different, though. This was Draco Malfoy. He was not part of the _some_ people she'd been referring to and he never acted nicely without motive.

"That night that we..." He shrugged his shoulders and tapped his lips lightly. Her shivers returned and she was intensely grateful he didn't say 'kissed' out loud. "You said it shouldn't be included on any list of things I should be sorry for. I've since realized I never really apologized for any of the things I should so I made that list." Quiet fell over them again. Hermione didn't know what to say. Now that she could hear the context of the list, it didn't make her angry. On second thought, it did make her angry. At herself. She'd assumed something awful and made an ass of herself, as the saying goes.

"You were right about one thing." He said. She looked at him again with a questioning glance.

"Our kiss was not on the list."

Hermione's face burned hot like fire and she turned away. There, he said it that time. _Our kiss_. Not _the_ kiss, she noted. The thought that a kiss could be a possession between them caused a feeling like cement stirring in her stomach. Draco looked like he was going to reach for her, then thought better of it. His hand rerouted and ran through his hair. After a moment more of contemplation, he began to walk around her to exit back into the main hall.

"Wait!" Hermione cried after him. She hadn't thought any further than that, so when he hooked back in her direction, she panicked for something to say. She bit her lip so hard she swore she could taste blood.

"What were you going to tell me? When I cut you off?" Good plan, get him to keep talking so she could think more.

He shrugged in a resigned manner. "I was going to say that I'm exhausted. I'm tired of trying to keep this up. The hatred and the fighting. So I'm done with that now. Thought you ought to know."

Hermione found herself speechless again. What on earth was happening? He'd confessed to her, he'd yielded. And yet, she couldn't accept it. She must have taken too long to answer because when she looked up, he was walking away again. She called after him one last time. "You don't like me."

He stopped moving but his back was still towards her. His voice was rough and he croaked. "Excuse me?"

"You don't actually like me. You can't." She watched him spin on the spot to face her again. She was expecting to see a look of disdain, his old routine menacing sneer. Instead his expression was blank. He was hiding   
something from her. Did she really just hurt his feelings?

"I can't? As in, I'm not allowed to? Or you don't think it's possible?"

"I..."

He stepped closer. "Because you'd be wrong about at least one of those. Both if I could get my hands on some Felix felicis." His inflection was so delicate, so (dare she think) affectionate, that it didn't even sound like Draco's voice. It was Duke's, she realized, as was the sweetness she sought in his familiar gray eyes.

Hermione gasped. She had about one hundred thoughts in her head at once but couldn't bear to spit any of them out. The cement churning feeling was still there and she was deeply afraid that if she opened her mouth in an attempt to speak, she might vomit all over her new dress robes.

She'd allowed too much silence again. When he walked away this time she let him, unable to come up with any other reason to delay. By herself at last, she stole a moment to tuck some stray hairs back into her chignon and wipe the sweat that had built up in her hands. When she had collected herself, she exited the room and rejoined the gala. She practiced keeping her face blank like Draco had, determined that no one would find out what was just said in the antechamber.


	24. Chapter 24

**H**

**...**

"Alright, what's so important that I had to get here half an hour before our normal tea time? With only about a five minute warning, no less." Hermione plopped down opposite Harry in the Ministry cafeteria. Her hair was thrown haphazardly back and she hadn't buttoned up her work robes properly. It was the Monday morning after the charity gala at the Artefact Vault and Harry was wearing an apprehensive face.

He threw a bundle of newspaper in her direction. "Have you seen this morning's _Prophet_ yet?"

"No time," she shot him a glare that she hoped would cause him to interpret the statement to be his fault for rushing her.

"Go on, then." Harry waved at the paper but he didn't look down. He was searching her face and, truth be told, Hermione was starting to find it a bit unnerving.

She unfolded the paper and glanced at the page, immediately recognizing herself in the photo. She was in her dress robes from the gala standing between Melvina Short and Neridiam Bram, blinking away the multitude of flashbulbs. They were standing next to the compass and mask display; it must have been just after the unveiling. Why would this photo be cause for Harry's concern?

Then she saw it: a blond male pacing in the background of the photo, eyes trained on her. And then there was the article that accompanied it.

...

**Two Mysteries Revealed:**

**Backstabbing and Betrayal at the London Magical Artefact Vault**

_The_ _Laelaps Compass and Cadmean Mask, a pair of magical relics that have been lost for millennia, made their grand reappearance at the London Magical Artefact Vault's annual charity gala this weekend as the donation of one Hermione Granger and another anonymous party._

_This reporter received an exclusive and can reveal with absolute certainty that the anonymous donor is none other than Draco Malfoy, repentant former supporter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._

_The unlikely couple engaged in a secret love affair which Granger exploited in order to procure the ancient items to bolster her own fame and hers alone. As has been speculated in the past, Granger admitted to personalizing a love potion for this expedition and Malfoy is certainly under her spell..._

_..._

Hermione gasped as she read further. Naturally there were some ridiculous embellishments but there was enough accuracy included later in the blurb so it was clear Rita Skeeter had been listening in. She _knew_ she'd felt someone watching them! "What rubbish!" She said, hoping she was able to control the red on her cheeks.

"Is it?" he asked. Hermione recognized Harry's expression. It was worry, not confusion.

"Come off it, Harry, it's Rita Skeeter. You know how she is, always looking for a salacious story. And it seems like she's never gotten over her penchant for pairing me up." Hermione referenced their fourth year at school when the hyperbolic reporter had fabricated a love triangle between Hermione, Harry, and Viktor Krum, a visitor from Durmstrang for the Triwizard Tournament.

"I dunno, there's usually at least a grain of truth to it," he said, finally breaking his eye contact to sip his tea. He swallowed slowly. "I think this might be the closest to the truth she's ever gotten."

Hermione's eyes widened. _How did he know? And why was he acting so blasé about it?_ "Harry?" she said in disbelief.

"I never got to tell you about Malfoy's hearing. It was right before you left for Australia so I didn't get a chance. He doesn't think like a Death Eater. Not anymore anyway." Harry lowered his voice as other Ministry workers began to filter into the cafeteria for the morning rush.

She released a breath that she hadn't realized she was holding. "How can you be sure?"

"The council used the sorting hat. Can't get much past that old thing."

Hermione held his gaze. Harry lifted one of his eyebrows, looking pretty proud of himself. "I suppose you want me to tell you that I can't get much past you either, apparently," she grumbled.

Harry shrugged. "I may have figured something out."

"How?" Hermione nearly yelled in surprise. An older witch at a neighboring table looked over and Hermione shot her a _mind-your-own-business_ glare, but lowered her own voice again. "I haven't even figured it out myself."

"I was suspicious of the story that you told me and Ron at the Burrow. I wrote it off at the time that it probably involved a bloke and you just didn't want to share that bit with Ron. Then when you didn't tell me later, I knew it had to be something more, something that you thought I'd disapprove of. Then I heard Malfoy storm into the Ministry last week." Hermione interrupted him with a groan. "We work in the same department now Hermione, I do hear things," he retorted.

"Fine, so that's when you figured it out?" She took a sip from her tea.

"Not exactly. Malfoy told me."

Hermione almost spit out her drink. "What?! He accused _me_ of telling you!" The older witch looked at her pointedly and made an angry shushing sound. The pair heeded her and Harry went on.

"Well, he didn't outright say it. I saw the way he was looking at you the other night and then I talked to him and I kind of... hinted that I knew. The way he reacted just confirmed it, is all. If it's worth anything, he looked fairly torn up about it."

"Believe it or not, Harry, it does mean something coming from you. I thought I was going mad. I thought maybe..." her voice hitched and she tried again. "Maybe he was just playing me for a fool."

Harry sat in silence for a minute, swirling his tea around his cup. "Remember the day of his hearing I told you about good and evil not being as easy as black and white?"

She did remember. She had thought he meant only Snape at the time. "Oh Godric, Harry, don't tell me you think he was undercover for the Order that whole time, too."

"No, I only mean that I don't think that was who he really is. He was raised into it. All he had were dark role models. It makes you wonder what could have been different if we had made friends with him years ago. He might have turned out differently from having different influences. Though I can see he's changing now. Perhaps he just needed the right instigation."

Hermione laughed softly and felt a renewed blush creep up. "And you think that's me?"

Harry just shrugged again.

"So you're... okay with this?"

"Tell me what exactly _this_ is, Hermione."

"I'm not sure yet." She considered how to explain it. Were she and Draco friends now? More than friends? And if they were more than friends, would she call them boyfriend and girlfriend, or would he simply be a date? Suddenly her inexperience in the ways of courtship put her at a disadvantage to be able to name her feelings. "I guess you're right about Rita Skeeter hitting close to the truth this time, for just one small piece. If I haven't already cocked it all up."

Harry thought for a moment. "You know the greatest thing about winning the war? Now you have the freedom to go after whatever makes you happy. No one has the right to deny you that. Not me, and not even yourself. So yeah, I'd say I'm okay with it. I'm not saying he and I are going to be best mates or anything. But hate is what started the war, right? We thought we had good reason to hate Malfoy then, and maybe if you think about it, there _is_ no good reason for hate."

"Harry James Potter, I left the country for a month and you've turned into some kind of philosopher!" Hermione sighed and rested her chin on her hand. He rolled his eyes in self-deprecation. "Well you're a man, what do I do now?"

"Good on you for noticing," Harry laughed. "You think you've cocked it up, then?"

"I know I have." Hermione bit her lip.

"What exactly have you done?"

"He tried to tell me basically the same thing you've just told me. I didn't believe him." She shook her head, angry at herself in memory.

"But you believe me now?"

"It's different with you, Harry. I've been able to trust you with my life since we first met. Trusting Draco is... a new endeavor. Trusting him feels so difficult because this whole mess seemed like a trick. Did I tell you I didn't know it was him at first? He'd transfigured himself to look like a different person and he let me fall for that person. Then he didn't even have the decency to come clean, I found him out."

Harry nodded. "You know I'm no expert on relationships or Malfoy, but it seems to me like you need to tell him that you like him."

Hermione hadn't said it, Harry did. She _liked_ Draco Malfoy? Did she? She could admit at least that she liked parts of him. She liked his grating wit and his too sharp chin. She liked his shrewd cunning. She liked his eyes, she liked his competitiveness. She liked his smile when it was genuine, and he'd given her a few of those. She'd liked the feel of his strong arms around her.

The list kept going. _Huh._ She really did like Draco Malfoy

The full weight of the recognition settled in her chest. She sighed. "What do I say? I've no clue where to start."

Harry had started to clear his place, but he paused and offered her his hand. "Hermione, you've been reading your whole life, I think you'll find the words you need." By then the cafeteria was starting to empty out as their fellow Ministry workers hurried off to their offices. Harry stood. "Let me work on Ron, though."

Hermione leapt up and hugged him. "Thank you. I owe you big."

"I'll say. Ron might try to sock me, you know."

Hermione let out a watery giggle. "I don't mean just for that."

"I know what you meant, Hermione." Harry extracted himself from her embrace to look her straight in the eye. "And you're welcome."


	25. Chapter 25

**D**

Draco stood in front of a full length mirror in his bed chambers, in dress robes for the second time in the past week. His life had changed rather drastically since the Artefact gala only a week ago.

The _Daily Prophet_ article had exposed him as the anonymous donor of the compass, and although that twit reporter Rita Skeeter had stretched the truth considerably, Draco came out of if with a shiny new reputation. Neridiam Bram had publicly announced their partnership on his new book series, even though Draco couldn't recall officially accepting. The Society for Magical Advancement wrote him and, "in light of current revelations", they were retracting the prior statement that he wasn't welcome at their ceremony and extended him a direct invitation. It seemed they no longer needed Hermione Granger to be there on his behalf. Besides this feat, he was getting an owl a day inviting him to other events, each offering him a further opportunity to put himself in the public good graces by _healing the great divide in the magical world_ , as one letter put it.

It wasn't all fun though. The day the article was published, Draco had been sitting in the parlor when his father joined him and launched the newspaper at his feet.

"Is this my true punishment, then?" The older Malfoy seethed. Draco hadn't yet read the paper, but his eyes caught the photo on the front page: him looking at Hermione like he was a starving man and she was the last plate of dinner. He didn't have to read the article to get it's meaning, the byline and the photo said enough. The boy retreated to his old ways by trying to keep his head down and attract as little ire as he could. "My own son throwing away his heritage, disgracing our name. Will I be expected to rub elbows with the mudblood, too?"

The word caused Draco's brain to snap. Before he knew what he was doing, Draco had stood with such force that his chair toppled backwards. "Don't call her that!"

"So it's not some disgusting fiction?" Lucius stalked closer. "Is this your sowing the wild oats phase, then?"

Draco took a step back and stumbled against his overturned chair. His father's presence, even though the two men were now the same height, still made Draco feel young and powerless.

"It's nothing to worry about," he mumbled, looking away angrily. He reduced his voice to a whisper and added, "I'm used to not getting what I want."

His father's scowl twitched. "Have I not given you everything you ever wanted? Money, power, prestige. I provided you all of those things."

"You also provided me a ticket to Azkaban, and it's only by someone else's doing that the ticket didn't get punched." Draco gathered his courage and looked directly in his father's steely eyes. "You know nothing about what I actually want, father."

A rustle at the door announced his mother's entrance. She must have been just beyond the threshold listening, because her gaze was pained at Draco and she said, "Tell us what you want, dear."

Draco mouth went dry. No one had ever asked him what he wanted with this much weight before. He hadn't even asked it of himself. He had known for so long not to allow himself to want things that were out of his reach, since he had decided that the desire had never been worth the disappointment. But Hermione had changed that. She'd reminded him how to want and to feel. He composed himself, using the time to straighten his spine and concoct a way to word his thoughts. He opened his mouth and still had no command over his voice. How could he be honest? His father would pounce on an emotional display as weak, but to deny his emotions now would keep him from Hermione, if she ever came around to him.

His mother spoke again. Her voice was careful and even. "Strategically, the move was quite brilliant. That Granger girl certainly gave a boost to your image, and would likely do the same for ours if the... relationship goes further. It would be wise to pursue it, solidify that alliance."

Draco caught himself before his jaw fell open. His mother was encouraging him?

Lucius face contorted as if he'd sucked on a lemon. "Do you realize what you're suggesting? That our son purposefully put himself in league with filth! Would you have their little half-breed brats running around the manor in a few years as well?"

"I know perfectly well what I'm suggesting." Narcissa's mouth formed a thin line. "Admittedly it's not ideal, but what choice do we have? Do you want to be ostracized for the rest of your life? In this new society, pure heart is the new pure blood. That is how we get ahead now."

"They are beneath us!"

Draco saw a vein pop out in his father's forehead. His first instinct was to get between them, protect his mum, but Narcissa kept her poise.

"My husband, you may not be in Azkaban, but you are well imprisoned here. You've been stripped of your magic. What makes you any better now than the common muggle which you hate so much?"

"I am no heathen." Lucius drew himself up tall. His form was not imposing, but still austere. "And if I recall, you agreed with me once."

"I did. I am proud of my line." Narcissa raised her chin and mirrored her husband's stance. "I am simply of the mind that our future is more important than our past. Last May at the castle we made the decision to walk away from that life, right before the end, to protect ourselves from the inevitable. It was enough to keep us all from death or the Dementor's Kiss, but it was too little too late to ensure our comfort for the rest of our lives.

"Draco's found a way: the love of someone pure-hearted. All we need is the right person to pardon our supposed sins and they will all follow suit. Don't you see the brilliance? We must play by these new rules now." Narcissa finally turned her attention back to Draco who was still frozen in place. "What do you say, dear? I know it's not what you want, but like you said, you're used to not getting what you want, so long as it helps the family."

Draco reigned in his shock enough to respond evenly. "I'm unsure if allying with her is still possible at this point. She may not be amenable." He paused as if he were weighing his options. "I suppose I can keep up the pretenses to appear as though I am."

She smiled. "Good. That may be all we need to succeed." Narcissa turned back to her husband. "You should thank your son for his sacrifice."

Lucius' skin changed to a sickening color, like he'd swallowed poison. He gave a curt nod and left the room.

Draco finally remembered to breathe again. "Mother, I..."

Narcissa made a hushing noise. She patted Draco's hand, then lifted her palm and placed it tenderly against his cheek. "My dear, you deserve to have what you want. That's all I ever wanted for you. I am just sorry it had to be this way." Her voice was heavy with regret and to anyone listening in, it could have seemed that she meant she was sorry for him being forced to pursue Hermione Granger. Up close, however, Draco noticed a new softness around her mouth that looked like a loving and crafty smile.

_She knew._ She knew what he wanted and came up with a spin for his desires to be acceptable within their household.

She'd given him permission.

"Thank you," he murmured and pressed a grateful kiss to his mother's forehead. She allowed her smile to linger only a moment longer, then erased her features into her usual regal expression. She too nodded and exited, leaving Draco alone once again. He stood there, too bewildered by the unexpected turn to do anything but blink. Slowly he regained the ability to move. He righted his fallen chair and then reached for the newspaper which had separated into singular pages. He grabbed the page with Hermione's photo first and allowed himself to drink in her image. Was it a blessing or a curse that his mother had given him permission if Hermione still wouldn't have him?

Draco shook his head and reached for the other pages of the paper which were in a disarray all over the floor. He did a double take as another article caught his attention.

...

**Sylbering Scandal**

_Accusations are flying after this weekend's charity gala at the London Magical Artefact Vault. Dymphna Laceroot, three time author and esteemed magical archaeologist, has found that someone tampered with a donation she made to the Vault four years ago._

_Many may recall her find of the Sylbering Gloves, a strength enhancing relic, which was heralded as the most exciting find of the last decade. The discovery launched her junior career so that she quickly outshone her former mentor and fellow explorer, Neridiam Bram._

_"It's a shame what has happened here," Ms. Laceroot said when she was reached for a statement. "Not for me, of course, but for the Artefact Vault, and for the magical community. We've lost a piece of our history and the Vault lost a priceless artefact." She had to fight through tears to tell the story, but insisted that she isn't the victim, everyone is._

_She discovered the deceit when a fan asked her to sign one of her books, she explained. "The gloves were of particular interest to the boy, with the power of strength and all, so he asked me to sign the page where I included a photo in the book. It was then that I noticed something wasn't quite right."_

_Laceroot had identified that the gloves in the photo were fakes, proven by an incorrect rune in the stitching. The forgeries were obviously switched out after she'd donated them._ _"I hadn't taken too much time to look at the photo before now, since I was already on to my next endeavor, but the mistake is glaring."_

_She has vowed to find both the gloves and the thief. Anyone with more information can send an owl to the anonymous post box._

_..._

Draco was momentarily struck dumb. Then suddenly he was laughing heartily and uncontrollably. Of course that woman would find a way out of the corner he'd backed her into. Her plan was rather elegant, really. He couldn't stop the laughter and strangely, he didn't want to. The house elves or his parents might think he went mad if they could hear, but the release was slowing draining the tension out of his muscles. That relief lasted all through the week as owl after owl bombarded him each day with the invitations.

Now it was the end of the week and Draco looked at his reflection once more. Yes, since that day, the whole atmosphere of the manor had changed. His mum smiled at him from the door and his father gave him a cold but approving acknowledgement. Draco shifted the boutonniere on his lapel until it was just so, then apparated away to the award ceremony.


	26. Chapter 26

**D**

The ceremony was being held in a cavernous grand ballroom. Ornately decorated small tables dotted what should have been the dance floor which sat beneath a largely empty stage. Draco hovered by the entrance, unsure where he was supposed to go, and fruitlessly scanning the growing crowd for a certain chocolate brown set of curls.

As he waited hoping to catch a glimpse of Hermione, fellow guests approached him from all sides. Some gave him shy smiles and words of encouragement, others marched right up and shook his hand. One older woman loudly proclaimed that she always knew there was a golden heart somewhere in the Malfoy snakes. Another especially emotional middle-aged woman said nothing but pressed her palm to his heart while dabbing her eyes, then couldn't control herself and pulled him into a hug, soaking the shoulder of his dress robes with tears.

Draco held back his sneer and accepted it gracefully. He did, after all, need them to be on his side to keep his mother's ruse going. That's not to say that he didn't immediately shoot a cleaning spell at his soiled shoulder when the usher arrived to escort him to his seat. He sat alone at his table, the closest to the stage, for only a minute before he was joined again.

"Hello, I'm Jellista Hobbs for the _Daily Prophet_ ," the girl said as she dropped into the seat next to him. She flashed a wide, smudged orange lipstick smile that she may have thought looked kind, but Draco found more crazed than anything else. He reached for her extended hand and shook it anyway. "You can call me 'Jelly' for short, all my friends do."

"Jelly?" Draco asked, wondering how many people this unsettling girl called friends. She nodded with a bit too much enthusiasm and the mountain of black hair that was piled on her head swayed precariously. "Don't they usually send Rita Skeeter for these kinds of things?"

The young reporter's face fell and Draco back peddled into appeasement mode. "Don't get me wrong, I don't mind her absence. Just curious."

She shrugged and then rummaged through her bag, eventually extracting a notepad and quill. "She hasn't shown up for work in almost a week. Lyle in sports thinks she caught a bug, but she isn't responding to any owls, and if that goes on for much longer she'll probably get the sack. When that happens, I'll be ready to fill her pointy shoes! I just need an exciting story to get my foot in the door." She paused and gave him another worrisome grin. She held out her quill and used the feather end to trace his jawline. "How about you, do you want to give me my first juicy tidbit?"

Draco pulled away sharply, and it was only due to years of practice that he was able to hold his face blank. Luckily, he was saved from having to answer. The lights in the hall pulsed to get the crowd's attention and the background music swelled before it cut off entirely. The ceremony was about to begin. Draco's eyes did one last sweep of the room, but still couldn't see a trace of Hermione. Maybe they didn't need her to come at all since he had been allowed to attend?

A spotlight shone on the stage and an overweight wizard with a thick handlebar mustache introduced himself as Wilford Bugninny, executive chairperson for the Society of Magical Advancement. He made a speech that Draco pretended to listen to, something about praise for the honorees in the room, and then advised that the induction ceremony would be first up. Each new innovation would be introduced in turn and presented a certificate by loved one, and the winner for Most Important Magical Innovation of the Year would be selected from those at the end of the night.

When Draco heard _loved one,_ his ears perked up. Would Hermione be there after all? He watched the stage like a hawk, but another man came out next. The man introduced a spell that had something to do with baking and a woman Draco presumed to be his wife joined him on stage when he was finished to accept her certificate. The two shared a chaste kiss and the room gave a collective sigh in awe.

The night dragged on like this. Nephews introduced uncles, friends introduced friends, and mothers introduced sons. Draco momentarily wondered if perhaps his mother would come out on stage next and he'd spent all night on pins and needles for no reason.

Then, after twenty or so other certificates were handed out, it was finally Draco's turn. They saved him for last, of course, for he was the _juiciest tidbit_ of the ceremony, to borrow Jelly's words.

"Now for our final inductee of the night," Wilford Bugninny boomed. "And here to introduce his work is none other than Hermione Granger!" He bowed off the stage and the spotlight found who he'd been looking for the whole ceremony.

She was wearing an emerald green strapless dress with white opera gloves that covered up to her elbows. _Slytherin green?_ Draco wondered as his eyes followed her to the podium. He reconcentrated to calm his thoughts. He was reading too much into the color of her attire.

Her tan from their travels had faded entirely and her face looked stark white and scared. She found him easily in the crowd and took a deep shaking breath.

"Did you know," she started, and her eyes sparkled for a brief moment, "that the international average for improperly performed memory spells is estimated to be thirty-seven percent?" There was a murmur of shock and disbelief through the room, but all Draco could think about was Hermione using the words _did you know_. She was echoing the game they used to play and suddenly he felt like they were the only two in the room. She was talking just to him.

"That is a scary number when you consider that before now, there were no reliable spells to reverse the effects. I say _before now_ because Draco Malfoy's memory potion has changed that. In order for you to fully understand the magnitude of his invention, I have to clear the air about a certain article of which you are all no doubt aware. But first, I have to start further back.

Last summer, as the war started to pick up speed, I made a decision that I thought was my only option to save my muggle parents. Their connection to me, best friend of Harry Potter himself, put them in great danger to be killed, or worse, used as bait against me." Hermione paused, biting her lip. Draco was close enough that he could see her gloved hands tremble as she gathered her strength to continue.

"To avoid that fate, I cast an extremely strong obliviate spell, so strong that it removed my whole existence from their memories entirely and rewrote their identities. I forced them into hiding somewhere that I didn't know and shielded them from being found. When the war was won..."

She had to stop again, but this time it was because the hall erupted in applause. Men and women were off their seats giving her a standing ovation. Draco looked around. The very emotional woman was crying again into a handkerchief, but she was hardly the only one.

When the commotion quieted down, Hermione continued. "When the war was won, I went looking for my parents so that we could all get our lives back. But then I was the victim of my own cleverness; I couldn't find them because I had hidden them so well. That is when my path crossed with Draco Malfoy. Under no coercion, he helped me put together a plan and unbelievably we were successful in finding the Laelaps Compass and the Cadmean Mask, and the former led me to my parents.

"Half of the problem then was solved, but no less than seven counter-charms failed to reverse my memory spell. And from that failure came Draco's success. He worked for weeks, researching and brewing, until he came up with the perfect potion with the right potency. Within seconds of drinking the potion, I had my parents back and they remembered everything from their prior life as well as their life in hiding. The only complaint I received was the potion's taste." She made a pinched face. "Sour grapes, apparently." There was some light laughter around the hall. A hush once again spread as she opened her mouth to speak again.

"Draco's potion was truly a lifesaver for my family, and he deserves to be honored here. Even if his potion doesn't win the award for most important innovation, it was absolutely the most important to me."

For a beat, the hall was silent again, then there was another thunderous applause. The people around him all but lifted him from his chair and shoved him to the stage. All he could see was her in the spotlight, holding out his induction certificate. His feet felt like the were made of lead, causing him to walk as if in slow motion. He finally reached her and his hand closed around the certificate, brushing against hers. He could feel her heartbeat racing even through her gloves but she didn't pull away and neither did he. He remembered back to their meeting on the long distance train, when they had brushed hands to pick up his fallen book and he had leapt back. He wished he could go back and redo that moment, to savor it, as this one was far too short. The chairperson cleared his throat off stage and Draco realized he hadn't blinked since he got on the stage, only stared like he thought if he closed his eyes even for a millisecond, she would disappear.

Hermione let out an embarrassed squeak and dropped her hand. She turned and hurried off the stage, yet not before Draco caught a feint smile appear below her blush. Draco made to follow her, but Wilford Bugninny stepped into his path.

"What a lovely sentiment!" He hollered over the equally loud cheering. "Mister Malfoy, do you have anything you'd like to add before the judges reconvene to determine the award winner?"

Draco looked out at the hall. "Thank you?" he offered simply, then tried to get past the chairperson.

"Oh ho! At least give us a name for your potion, boy!'

But Draco was already rushing off the stage. He called out, "Hermione!"

He couldn't hear Wilford Bugninny laughing behind him and saying, "How sweet to name it after her..."


	27. Chapter 27

**H**

Hermione zigzagged through the wings backstage, trying to find a private place to stop. She couldn't hear anything past the blood pumping in her ears so when a hand grasped her arm, she jumped high in surprise.

"It's just me, didn't mean to scare you."

Hermione spun around to Draco's concerned face. The fright had knocked the wind out of her, but even if she could speak, she didn't know what to say. She'd wanted him to follow her, naturally, so they could share words without an audience of hundreds, yet now that the moment was upon her, she seemed to be fresh out. She let her eyes slide down and they landed on her arm where he still had a firm grip. Hermione instantly noticed the warmth radiating from his hand and melted into it.

Slowly she looked back up, finding Draco's eyes still on her. Hermione shivered under his gaze. "Did you mean it?" he asked.

Her throat felt too constricted to let sound out. She could tell he was waiting for her to say something. _Yes. I meant that and more,_ she thought. The thought didn't make it to her mouth. She only nodded.

"I meant it too, you know. All of it. Everything I've said to you since that night at the Leaky Cauldron was the truth." He thought for a second then grimaced slightly. "Except the fake identity bit."

Hermione nodded again. Her emotions felt spent from her speech. What would she say if she could, anyway? _I like you?_ How lame and juvenile that would sound. _I want to be with you?_ Even though it was true, the feeling was still so new to her, so strange that she had not quite gotten used to the idea yet.

"Well aren't you going to say anything?" Draco prodded. He took a step closer to her and let his hand slip down her arm to her hand. His fingers filled the spaces between hers.

"I'm sorry, it's just..." Hermione swallowed. "Do you have any idea how hard this is for me?"

Draco scoffed, but it didn't have his old mean edge. His tone and his grip kept their gentle touch. "You think it's rough for you? I'm the one who's spent the better part of the last decade learning how to hide my thoughts and feelings through occlumency because it was literally a matter of life or death. And now I've got to let that go." He squeezed her hand, finishing his sentence with body language that seemed to say _and I'm not letting you go._

Hermione shook her head. "Yes, and I'm the one who's spent years making sure I always had the right answer to prove that I belonged in a school full of people from magical families." She turned her face down and stared at their hands clasped together, willing him to hear her own unspoken words, _that I belong with you._

She heard him sigh and felt his thumb start to rub soothing circles around the back of her hand. "I'm sorry I made you feel like you had anything to prove," he whispered. He meant it and she knew it.

"And you've proven me wrong more times in the last month than I think I've been in my whole life. I assumed things because of how you were back then," she replied just as quietly, finally giving in.

"I gave you reason to assume," he admitted. His thumb had stopped circling, Hermione could tell he'd momentarily lost himself worried about actions in his past. She willed herself to keep talking, she was so close to setting them straight.

"You also gave me reason to rethink it."

Draco met her eyes and he gave her one of his rare genuine smiles. He didn't seem surprised exactly, relieved was more like it. His voice was warmer when he spoke next, laced with a certain unexpected shyness. "Can we start over then?"

Hermione felt her heart flutter. She took a breath to calm herself. There was one last thing she had to say and she couldn't lose her nerve partway through.

"No."

Draco dropped her hand and his jaw simultaneously.

"I thought I wanted that too, but we can't pretend that starting over is a possibility." In contrast to a few minutes ago, her words were coming sharp and fast. She had to speak quickly or she'd lose him. Now that her hands were free she removed her long gloves, revealing the letters still visible on her skin. She reached across and tugged back his left sleeve so his mark was exposed, too.

"It's like our scars. We could try to ignore them, we could try to erase them, but they'd still be there."

He looked down at their arms, his eyes dark with sadness and regret. Her fingers found his chin and turned his face up to her own.

"I read something once that said: _Some people see scars and it is the wounding they remember. To me they are proof of the fact that there is healing._ I didn't really understand it until now. I think it means that we're stronger this way, having had to live through the redemption and the forgiveness. Instead of trying again from the beginning, maybe we could keep going, right from here."

Draco's transformation was slow as he began to comprehend what she was saying. The corners of his lips curved up and his eyes twinkled. He pulled her to him, bringing them chest to chest. "I could agree to that." He bent his head, lifted her arm, and planted a kiss on her scar. Then they were kissing so suddenly that Hermione couldn't remember who leaned in first. Her arms had ended up around his neck and shoulders, his at her waist, and somehow her feet weren't touching the floor anymore. He had lifted her and she couldn't tell the difference because it already felt like she was floating.

Even though her mind was racing, she couldn't help compare this kiss to their first. This kiss was confident instead of timid, giving instead of needy, yet it still carried the same heat, the same _take-your-breath-away_ urgency. It was like their kiss was a life boat in a stormy sea. _Their_ kiss. That thought still affected her stomach, but it was no longer a cement feeling. It was butterflies.

Hermione smiled against Draco's mouth and then heard a deep cough. She pulled back and glanced at Draco, his face mirroring her own confusion. Together they looked to the side and saw the walrus-like Wilford Bugninny staring awkwardly at the ceiling. Swiftly Hermione was back on her feet and the couple automatically stepped apart. Hermione noticed that Draco had lipstick marks in a shade to match the embarrassed flush that blossomed on his cheeks.

"Erm, sorry to disturb... I had to find you because _Hermione_ won the award for Most Important Magical Innovation of the year. Well done." Bugninny motioned back towards the stage. "Everyone is waiting for an acceptance speech."

Hermione knitted her brows. "Sorry, but how did _I_ win? I wasn't entered."

"Not you, child!" Bugninny laughed, causing his thick mustache to twitch. "Mr. Malfoy's potion, he named it as he was leaving the stage after your introduction. It's also called Hermione. Seemed fitting, from what you said out there."

"I didn't..." Draco protested, then his face morphed into understanding. "I was calling to her, I wasn't naming the potion."

"Oh, well, it's already been put on the plaque..." Bugninny replied while tapping the tips of his fingers together nervously. "Shall we go back out for your speech?"

Hermione felt Draco's eyes on her again. His head was cocked to the side as if to say, _Will you still be here when I get back?_

She nodded. "Go," she laughed and pushed him gently away from her. Draco started to make his way back to the stage. Before he could get far, Bugninny caught him and made another coughing noise and pantomimed wiping his lips. Draco stopped and looked back at Hermione, cheeks going red again as he wiped the lipstick from his mouth.

"Go!" Hermione repeated. "The faster you go, the faster you can come back." She laughed again as he winked and took his leave. She followed him into the wings so she could listen to his speech, but she didn't hear a single word. She was too busy watching his face and his stance, trying to memorize him exactly as he was, finally letting go of the image of Duke. He was Draco, just Draco, and he was hers. And that was more than enough.


	28. Epilogue

**Flash forward**

**...**

Hermione sat on the couch in her flat, her swollen feet propped up on a plush stool. Her fingers were so swollen that her wedding rings couldn't fit past her knuckle and instead hung on a chain around her neck. Everything was swollen, not the least of which was her belly. She clenched her jaw as another wave of pressure squeezed in her abdomen.

"You alright?" Draco asked as he came in the front door, noticing her expression.

Hermione stayed braced for a moment longer then released. "Yes. It's passed now. How was your day?" Her husband crossed the room and rubbed her protruding stomach.

"Fine. Lots of research with no progress today. How was yours?" He asked, then he lowered his head and placed a kiss on her belly. "The both of you?"

"Oh we've done just fine," she moaned. "Except that it took me ten whole minutes to get out of bed this morning. You'll probably have to levitate me back to bed tonight."

He chuckled at her. "If it's such trouble, I'll carry you, love."

"I'm bigger than a hippogriff, Draco. Your strength has bounds." The discomfort was starting to get to her in the last week of her pregnancy and she couldn't help the argumentative tone that crept into her voice.

"Not since I found the real Sylbering gloves." He winked. Hermione laughed despite herself. Draco left the couch and padded over to the kitchen.

"I did some research myself today." She called out after him. "I've been working on a list of baby names. What do you think of Imogen?"

Draco made a face behind her back and paused what he was doing. "Where'd you find that name?"

"It's a character in a work of Shakespeare, just like my name." Hermione snapped back. "And stop making that face, I can hear it from over here."

"You can't _hear_ the expression I'm making." He rolled his eyes.

"Can too. Same way I just heard your eyes roll."

He shook his head and turned back to the two glasses he'd just filled with water. "Alright dear. But veto to Imogen." He brought the glasses back with him to the couch and handed her one.

"Thank you. What about Rose? That's a classic. It's beautiful."

Draco considered it. It wasn't bad, but still not quite right. "Any child of mine needs to be named after something celestial, not mundane like a flower."

"Oh but Draco, _what's in a name?_ " she teased, quoting _Romeo and Juliet_ , the play he'd once quoted to her before they got together.

He stuck his tongue out childishly. "I happen to like tradition. It doesn't have to be a star, it could be a moon or a comet maybe."

Hermione crossed her arms under her bust. "Why does it have to be your family's tradition? Using Shakespeare comes from my family." He didn't answer. "Anyway, your mum's name is a flower."

Draco scowled, realizing he'd just lost a point there. "Well... why are all your options girls names? What if it's a boy?"

"It's not a boy."

"How do you know?" he snorted. "I know you didn't see it in our tea leaves."

It was her turn to stick her tongue out. "Mother's intuition. But if you're turning down all of my suggestions, let's hear what you've got to offer."

He thought silently for a minute, swirling the water in circles around his glass. "Scorpius. It's strong and fearsome."

"I don't want any son of mine to be _feared_ thank you very much." Hermione grimaced with her eyes closed and rubbed her belly again. She took a moment to even out her breathing again.

Draco watched her with concern until it passed again. When she came back around he suggested, "What about Hyperion, then? That sounds regal without being threatening."

Hermione tilted her head to the side in concession. "That's not bad. It's going to be a girl, though."

"Hmmm," he stalled and scratched his chin while he thought deeper. "Do you think it's possible that there are Shakespeare characters that share names with stars? Or other celestial bodies?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "There are actually! Most of the moons of Uranus come to mind. At least twenty-five of them are named after characters in Shakespeare's works!" She scribbled a quick list and handed Draco the parchment.

"Desdemona sounds pretty..."

She crinkled her nose. "You never got around to reading Othello, did you?"

He shook his head no.

"Okay, how about... Portia Malfoy?" He pointed about halfway down the list.

Hermione turned to him quickly and her face was sharp. "Granger-Malfoy."

"Absolutely not," he huffed. "I'm not saddling my child with a hyphenated name."

"Fine," she sniffed in return, "just Granger then."

"She'll be a Malfoy." He set his jaw firmly.

"That hardly seems fair that you get the sole decision on the last name and I don't get the same for the first." Her eyes looked dangerous. Somehow the conversation had turned from playful disagreement to a true dispute.

"That's different. The surname is already decided."

"Says _you_."

"Says _society_."

Hermione pinched her lips tightly together and stared daggers. Draco didn't budge. Eventually she started to wiggle back and forth on her seat, grunting for a minute before she gained enough momentum to propel herself off the couch. She started to stomp away.

"Wait, Mrs. Granger-Malfoy." He caught her wrist. She stopped instantly and sucked in a loud deep breath.

"Draco," she said through her teeth.

"Yes, love.?" He said in his best placating voice. "I'm sorry. Come back, we can talk about the hyphenation."

"No, Draco..." Her hand was on her belly again.

"It's cute on you, really."

"Draco!"

"What?" He jumped, surprised by her sudden volume and urgency.

"We have to go!"

"Go?"

"St. Mungo's. Now!"

**...**

"Would you like to hold her?" Hermione asked. Sleep seemed to be finally claiming her as her eyes drooped low. The moon was high in the sky and the delivery room had finally been cleared of all the healers when they finished checking his wife and his daughter.

Draco nodded. His pulse started racing faster again. He'd never held something so small and precious before. She shouldn't trust him with this, he thought, even as he reached out to take the bundle. He cradled her head carefully as he'd seen Hermione do and gazed unblinking at the beauty he'd helped create.

Her skin was blotchy and pink still, but underneath he could tell it would be light like cream. He couldn't see her eyes yet, the babe hadn't opened them much yet, but she had his slim nose and a mess of blonde hair on top of her head. Draco recognized Hermione's lips in miniature and traced them lightly. His daughter opened her mouth and sucked, expecting to be fed.

"Hello, Portia Rose Granger-Malfoy," he whispered. In his peripheral vision, he saw Hermione smile.


End file.
